Normal is Overrated
by thereluctantwriter
Summary: Felicity meets Richard Grayson, who has a complicated past with Oliver Queen. AU after "The Promise."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters.

Richard Grayson suddenly felt nervous when he caught sight of Felicity Smoak. The picture in his file did not do her justice. The photo before him featured a girl whose hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, with an insincere smile plastered on her face presumably for the camera. This was in stark contrast to the woman standing before him.

Due to time constraints, which were becoming more common these days as her night "shifts" stretched into the early hours of the morning, Felicity had run out of her house with wet hair. She had opted to leave it down (at least until it dried), and decided that make-up was also something that would have to be applied later in the day. Coffee, however, was something she needed _now_, and she flashed the barista her most earnest smile as she placed her usual order.

He hadn't expected her to be so naturally striking. She navigated the room with quiet confidence, clearly oblivious to the fact that he wasn't the only one who noticed her. He watched as she made her way to a nearby table, pulling the chair out without even glancing at it, her eyes glued to her tablet the entire time. Her light blue fingernails were visible from across the cafe as she clutched the device at eye level.

"Felicity Smoak?" he asked, adjusting his tie as he approached her. His hands felt cool and clammy, and he was suddenly aware of the sound of his heartbeat in his ear.

She looked up, head slightly tilted, and with a hint of jest in her voice, drawled, "You're not my cappuccino..."

Her blue eyes scanned his curiously. He held out his hand and despite the nervous energy coursing through him, flashed her his most confident smile. "I'm Richard Grayson. I work for Wayne Enterprises."

"What can I do for you?" she asked, pursing her lips and smiling as her hand clasped his in a firm handshake.

"I'm here to offer you a job."

He was disappointed at how quickly she pulled her fingers away, raking them through her hair, her eyes darting sideways and then back down to her tablet.

"I have a job," she told him, matter-of-factly, refusing to meet his eyes.

"I meant a job you're actually qualified for." He kept his voice even, watching her intently, already considering his next move.

She took a deep breath. "I'm not interested."

He laughed, incorrectly assuming that she was playing hard-to-get, a game he was particularly adept at winning. He straightened his shoulders, like a peacock puffing its feathers, and held out an envelope with the written offer.

"Tall Cappuccino with two extra shots," a voice behind them called out.

Felicity jumped up, and ran to grab her coffee. He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to decide whether this was an act or she was actually as annoyed as she looked.

"I think you'll be very happy with what our company has prepared…" he continued, following her. She ignored him and headed out of the coffee shop.

"Uh…I haven't even told you what the offer is…" he found himself throwing his arms up in the air, bewildered. This wasn't the usual reaction he got when he offered people the opportunity to work at Wayne Enterprises. He had a perfect record of recruitment, which is why Bruce had asked him, personally, to deliver this offer. Felicity Smoak had graduated at the top of her class from MIT, at an age when most people were just entering college.

Her steps quickened, and Richard found himself jogging to keep up. She moved exceptionally fast, even in four-inch heels. "I know," she responded, not turning to look at him. "See, the way it works, Mr. Grayson, is when a person says they're not interested, that's a polite way of telling you to stop talking." She whipped around, pointed to herself, and repeated in a measured voice, "_Not. Interested."_ For a second, she held his gaze, as if to emphasize her resolve, and then she was facing forward again and walking away.

"Mr. Wayne is willing to offer you double your current salary," he said, finally falling into step with her.

Felicity laughed, almost as though she were mocking him. "I already work for a billionaire. If I wanted a raise, I'd ask Oliver."

"Ms. Smoak, you are currently an executive assistant." He didn't mean to sound condescending, although he realized as soon as the words left his mouth that she might take it this way. "I'm offering you, on behalf of Wayne Enterprises, the opportunity to head our Applied Sciences Division…"

There, that would get her. It was a killer job offer, and she'd be crazy not to engage him now. He was dumbfounded when her steps hastened. She called out, "I told you, I have a job…that I am now late for. Have a good day, Mr. Grayson."

With that, he watched Felicity Smoak enter the doors of Queen Consolidated without slowing down or looking back.


	2. Chapter 2

"You're late," Oliver said, more curious than upset. He knew better than to chastise her. Felicity "worked" for him, which is to say she sat at the desk outside his office and agreed to do some of what he very politely requested, and all of what she thought needed to get done.

She set her coffee cup down carefully, and immediately got to work, moving at a speed that broadcast how overqualified she was for this position. Folders rested in strategic piles around her desk, color-coded notes neatly stuck on top. A few light taps on her keyboard had ushered the printer to life, churning out even more paperwork, and then she was off again packing a palm-sized mini projector already calibrated to the tablet she had set up for him (that was also synced to hers, allowing her to listen into, and feed him more information, during important business meetings he couldn't quite keep up with). He watched her in awe, eyebrows narrowed as he tried to keep track of the three different things she seemed to be doing simultaneously. "Yeah, I would have been here sooner, but I was harassed with a job offer," she paused, her eyes peeking out over the top of her glasses. "Well, that and my other boss is a slave driver and I was working until…what was it? 1 am?" She smiled warmly at him.

He ignored the question, annoyance building at the first part of her admission. "Wait, who offered you a job?"

"Applied Sciences, Wayne Enterprises."

"What...did you say?" He released the question slowly, making a concentrated effort to sound casual, even though he knew she saw right through him.

"Oliver," she said, her tone exasperated, as she stopped moving for a full five seconds. "Do you _really_ think I'd be here right now if I said yes?" She was beside him now, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly as she moved past him, walking around to the opposite side of her desk to grab one more folder before handing him the stack, paperwork and technology piled on top of each other. She placed the bluetooth directly in his ear and then proceeded to put on her own. "Now, your 9 am is waiting, and she's…you know…GRRR…even when you are on time…" Felicity's fingers came up, curled tightly, mimicking claws. "Actually, there's no way to know that...since you're never on time." Glancing at the clock by her desk, she added, "Today not being the exception."

"Uh…did you…?" It was always awkward, asking someone if they had done your job for you.

Her smile was so wide, he thought she would burst into laughter from the amusement she was clearly getting from this moment. She leaned in closer him, so close that the scent of her lavender shampoo replaced the scent of coffee in the air around him. "The post-its are color coded. Blue are the pros, but what you really want to pay attention to are the green notes...it's everything you'll need to know to turn this deal down. The tablet has the graphs, and you know how to use the projector...and Oliver...you know I'll be listening the whole time."

"Felicity," he said, grinning at her, his face a picture of relief. "You're a lifesaver."

"Actually, that would be you. At night," she responded, touching his arm again and making her way back to her chair. "You'll do fine. Now go. I'll be here when you get back."

Oliver nodded, slowly, pressing his lips together in an attempt to hide the smile that threatened to reveal how grateful he was for her, among other things. "Thank you," he said simply, willing his legs to move away from her.

"Anytime...Well, anytime between the hours of 8 and 1…a.m.," she joked. "Oh, and by the way, you're giving me a 20% raise."

He turned back, and chuckled. "Come on, Felicity," he said, winking at her. "You know you're priceless."


	3. Chapter 3

The thing about working two jobs was that Felicity's caffeine intake had tripled over the last three years. Beyond Queen Consolidated, the Foundry, and her home, the café was where she ended up when she needed another place to work; after all, taking breaks was no longer possible with the life that she led.

"How many cups of coffee do you drink?"

She recognized his voice immediately, and turned to face its owner, urging herself to attempt politeness. "Mr. Grayson," she acknowledged. Oliver had another meeting in the afternoon, and she was pouring through the details on her tablet, making all the necessary notes. Annoyed was an understatement for how she was feeling.

"You remembered my name, at least I made an impression," Richard said, grinning. She zoned in on his perfect, white teeth, and reached the conclusion he probably didn't drink as much coffee as she did.

"Actually, I have a photographic memory. People's faces are much easier to memorize than…say, the periodic table."

"Call me Richard. Look, this morning didn't exactly go as planned..."

"Oh were you not planning to get shot down?" she asked, a smile hiding behind the sarcasm. "Remember that job I told you I had?" She pointed to her notes and whispered loudly, "This is me doing it." There were numbers to crunch, background checks to run, and a few offshore bank accounts to hack into. Her official job description wasn't the stuff her dreams were made of; what she did _unofficially,_ however, was a different story. She would never admit to Oliver that using her highly specialized skill set to help run a multi-billion dollar company wasn't as terrible as she made it out to be.

Richard held his hands up in surrender. "I get it. You don't want the job. You've ruined my perfect recruitment record," he confessed. "Which I'm willing to overlook if you come out to dinner with me." He smiled again. His confidence bordered on cocky, and Felicity wasn't sure if she found him charming or conceited. She looked away, trying to downplay how attractive he was: thick, wavy dark hair that came down over his forehead, so perfectly styled he may as well have stepped out of fashion magazine, striking blue eyes both bright and mischievous, and broad, chiseled shoulders that betrayed his affection for working out. He reminded her a lot of Oliver—hot, brooding, and well aware of his effect on the opposite sex. It was that last characteristic that made her answer all that much easier. She had seen Oliver use sex appeal to his advantage about as often as normal people used deodorant, and it was one thing to work for a man with that superpower; it was opening a completely different can of worms to date one.

She took a sharp breath, two fingers coming up to her temple, pressing into her skin as an added reminder to hold her ground. "Richard…" she began, "I work for a very, very busy man..."

"You can't seriously be shooting me down _again," _he said, placing his hands in his coat pockets, now looking at her with a bemused expression. "You're doing serious damage to my self-esteem here."

Felicity ignored him and continued, eyes stuck to her tablet screen even if she couldn't focus on any of the words because she was too busy trying not to be attracted to him. "Being the assistant to the CEO of a billion-dollar company isn't as easy as you think it is..."

"Yes," Richard agreed, his lips pressed together, eyebrows moving higher up his forehead. "It must really take its toll…all that partying he does at his club every night."

Her body tensed at his words. Oliver worked hard on his cover story, and that was the point: people were _supposed_ to assume he spent his nights at the club, partying. But this was the part of the act she hated the most, pretending that he was shallow and one-dimensional, which was the complete opposite of who she knew him to be.

Her loyalty got the better of her, and she found there was no need to talk herself out of anything, his comment had propelled her to the opposite side of the rink to Oliver's corner. She responded icily, "There is more to Oliver than what most people see."

"I highly doubt that." He was turning away now, bitterness evident in his tone. She was used to that, too. Oliver didn't have the best reputation, and it was something he had accepted. She knew it bothered him on some level, but he had enough fighting on his plate without adding the press and the tabloids to the list. Still, she found herself pressing her lips together to keep from saying any more.

An awkward silence followed, which Richard broke. "Felicity, I'm...not interested in Oliver Queen. I came because you…made an impression." His tone was so soft and earnest, she found herself looking at him before she could enumerate all the reasons why she shouldn't.

"You mean, ending your shutout?" There as a lightness in her modulation now, as she fought the smile that was making its way to the surface.

"Because..." He took a deep breath, considering his response. "You're overqualified for the job you have, clearly smarter than the man you work for, and...loyal...to a fault. And, while I can't figure out for the life of my _why_...I...admire that, about you," he confessed. "So...can I buy you...what is it? Your second cup of coffee before noon?"

Her finger and thumb came up in front of his face, pinched together tightly. "You could can the judgement," she said, her eyebrows narrowed at him playfully. "I work long hours." Suddenly remembering some sensitive information she had to share with Oliver that night, she added, "Really long hours."

"Then I'm sure Oliver Queen can manage for half an hour, seeing as he gets you the rest of the time," he assured her, beaming at her with a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear, lighting up his eyes and emphasizing the cerulean blue that she had only observed in babies until then.

"Fine," she agreed, putting her tablet away. "But this is not a date."

"Deal."

Felicity smiled and let Richard Grayson buy her a cup of coffee.


	4. Chapter 4

Oliver checked his watch again. It wasn't that he was keeping tabs on her, but it was unusual for her to be gone for so long in the middle of the day without so much as a text message telling him why. Unfortunately, with how he spent his nights, it was challenging not to feel a little anxious when the people closest to him were unaccounted for.

But it was more than that. If he was being honest with himself, her admission about the job offer forced him to consider doing what he does without her at his side, a reality that would make his jobs—both day _and_ night—significantly more challenging. It wouldn't be great for his personal life either, but he never let himself go there when it came to Felicity. It was too complicated.

"Hey, have you seen Felicity?" he asked John Diggle, who had just entered his office.

"At the café, sitting with some guy in a suit," Diggle replied. "Saw her on the way over." He lifted his chin slightly, eyes tracking Oliver's reaction. The last time someone had shown interest in Felicity, Oliver hadn't exactly put his best foot forward. This was the problem with not facing how he really felt about her—the feelings he spent most of the time ignoring bubbled up to the surface with certain emotional triggers; another guy showing interest, for example.

Oliver nodded, pivoting back in his chair. His fingers curled into fists involuntarily as frustration nestled in his chest, making the air that entered it seem thicker. He realized that he was clenching his jaw and closed his eyes for a second, urging himself to relax. After what happened with Barry, he was determined to be more mature and supportive this time around. Just because she was sitting with another guy didn't necessarily mean anything was going to happen. And even if it did, it was none of his business. She deserved to be happy.

He tapped on his keyboard, ushering his screen to life, and narrowed his eyes as he urged himself to focus on the words in front of him. He had, after all, a company to run. There was work to be done.

Work. Right.

"Uh, she has my notes for this afternoon's meeting. I need them if I'm going to get anything done," Oliver said casually, relieved to have a valid excuse to see her with the Suit.

Diggle glared at him, eyebrows raised. "Oliver. Play nice," he commanded, following him to the elevator door.

"Me?" Oliver asked, his thumb pointing at his chest. "I'm always nice," he grinned, stepping into the smaller room and pressing the button that would take him down to the lobby.

* * *

The first thing Richard learned about Felicity was that she was smarter than him, too. She turned down a job with NSA to work for Queen Consolidated ("I'm interested in being part of the solution, not part of the problem," was her response to working for the government). She knew as much about the stock market as he did, which was impressive considering he had an MBA in Investment Banking. Also, she drank coffee faster than Bruce downed bourbon.

When he had come out to offer her the job, he had meant to kill two birds with one stone: hire the most qualified person for the Applied Sciences position, and take Oliver Queen's personal assistant away. Now, having sat with her for a little over an hour, he found his disappointment over her decision swelling. He hadn't expected her to be so unabashedly charming. She was intelligent without being condescending; funny without trying too hard (or at all, sometimes); and clearly shared his moral code if her approval over the Arrow was any indication. It occurred to him that would work in his favor, if she were ever to discover _his_ secret...not that he should be considering that now.

"Wayne Enterprises. I should have known."

Felicity stiffened, not at the sound of his voice, but at Oliver's tone. Without looking up, she knew he was gritting his teeth, and she recognized the irritation that most people would have missed. She was confused as to why he would be so upset, but when she turned and met his eyes, she realized those emotions were not directed at her; he was looking straight at Richard.

"Oliver, how are you?" Richard asked insincerely, and she noted the coldness in his eyes.

Felicity threw Oliver a questioning look, and quickly sifted through past conversations with him trying to find a connection between these two men. "You guys know each other?" Her finger darted from one man to another in a sweeping gesture.

"We used to be roommates…" Oliver explained, making a conscious effort to sound more pleasant. He turned her lips upwards at her, but she recognized the tenseness in his fake smile.

"At one of the, what was it…four colleges you dropped out of?" Richard asked, his intention to humiliate Oliver not lost on her. "Yeah, we used to be friends actually…until I walked in on him going at it with my girlfriend."

Oliver grimaced as he felt Felicity's eyes bearing down on him. "_Of course_ you did," she said. The disappointment in her tone might as well have been a vise grip on his chest. "How did I _not_ figure that out myself?" He shifted under the weight of her stare, but kept his eyes locked on her, using her as a touchstone to keep his temper in check like he had done so many times before. He was fighting the urge to hit Richard Grayson. He smiled, knowing it wouldn't make much of a difference. His smiles used to have greater power over her, but as their friendship deepened, it became evident the days of manipulating her with his charm were over. Felicity was going to think what she was going to think, and do whatever it is she wanted to do, and his influence over either of those actions was notably diminished.

"I was 18," he said, trying to make the matter seem insignificant. "It was a long time ago. I'm sure Richard's over it by now." He faced his former roommate, and grinned confidently. He was good at playing the role of arrogant, obnoxious playboy, even if that wasn't who he was anymore.

He didn't see the right hook that was coming, and Felicity yelped, her hands coming up over her gaping mouth, as Richard's fist made contact with Oliver's left eye.

"Nope," Richard responded, shaking his hand, pretending it hurt. "But I'm getting there."

As he got up and walked away, so did Felicity. Unlike Richard, she returned holding a glass of ice.

"Are you okay?" she asked, trying to sound sympathetic. The truth was, she was feeling annoyed, not at Oliver having slept with another girl he shouldn't have (she was used to that by now), but that she was offered a job and asked out on a date as part of a vendetta against Oliver Queen. It was exhausting, having every part of her life somehow tied to him, but she pushed that out of her mind temporarily and turned her attention to him. That was how Felicity worked: she honed in on other people's pain faster than she recognized her own.

"I've had worse," Oliver said, accepting the ice. Did the element of surprise give Richard the extra edge? The strength of the punch, and the throbbing in his head at the moment (which was almost as painful as the beating his pride just took at having Felicity see another glimpse of who he used to be), was something he had not expected from his former friend.

"Am I ever going to meet anyone you were friends with pre-island who _isn't_ going to take a swing at you?" she asked, finding the amusement in the situation. She was good at _that_, too.

"Felicity, I was a different person back then," he replied seriously, holding her gaze. He may not have as much clout as he used to, but what was left, he wanted to use well.

She nodded compassionately. "And yet, seven years later, you've still got people swinging at you. Almost every night, in fact."

"Yes, the bad guys, because I'm one of the good guys now, remember?" Oliver said, a smile emerging. She always managed to draw one out of him when he least expected it.

"Usually, I do," Felicity said. "But then we have these moments and it all gets fuzzy again." She traced the now-emerging bruise so lightly, her fingertips like a feather on his skin. "For what it's worth, I'm impressed."

"For what?" The distance in his eyebrows shortened as he tried to figure out what it is that he had inadvertently done to gain her approval this time.

"I saw the fist, Oliver. I know it couldn't have been easy to…exercise restraint," her voice trailed off.

He pulled the ice from his eye. "How bad is it?"

Felicity cocked her head sideways. "Let's just say the mask is going to come in really handy tonight."


	5. Chapter 5

"What happened to you?" Diggle asked, as Oliver and Felicity walked into the Foundry.

"He ran into his past," Felicity replied, taking a seat in her chair. "Who, apparently, has a mean right hook."

She gathered her hair into a tight ponytail to prepare for the long night they had in front of them. "Apparently there's a long line of people who are not Oliver Queen fans pre-island…well, there's quite a bit of them post-island too, if we're keeping track." Her fingers deftly moved across her keyboard, and the audio streams of several police scanners appeared on her computer screen.

Oliver stopped behind her, arms crossed across his chest, listening to the chatter. Diggle came up behind him. "You picked a fight? With the suit? I thought I told you to play nice."

"Hey!" Oliver hand came up as he pointed to his bruise. "He hit _me, _and I didn't hit him back. I was playing nice."

"You slept with his girlfriend," Felicity chimed in, lips pursed, eyes still glued to her screens.

"Surprise, surprise." Diggle chuckled, throwing his friend a disapproving look.

"Ten. Years. Ago." Oliver's voice was measured, which happened when he was trying to control himself. "I was a kid!"

"You were 18. Technically that makes you an adult," she pointed out. She swiveled in her chair, eyebrows raised at him, her fingers coming up and playing with the dangling quill earrings she was wearing. "You know, I graduated college at 18."

"I moved out and joined the army by then." Dig added with a smirk. Both of them glared at Oliver, clearly finding humor in the conversation.

"Yeah…well, I..I…I dropped out of _two_ colleges by then. Not one, _two_." Oliver said, holding out two fingers, and letting a smile break through. He was outnumbered. "Now that we've established I'm the late bloomer here, can we get back to work?"

"You're the boss," Diggle said, as Felicity quickly spun around back to her computers. "What do you have, Felicity?"

"I was running the financials for Infinity, Inc., the company you just turned down a deal from this morning," Felicity said to Oliver, pulling up some graphs on her screen. "I already put it on my notes, but there's something odd about these statements. You see these transactions…same date, every month, for the last year and a half. Now, on the outside, Infinity claims to be a company that deals with fiber optic technology. These transactions are supposed to go a Fiber Optic supply company in Malta, but I did a little digging. The money is routed through Malta, but somehow makes it back to the US…" she pulled up a picture of a middle-aged man with scraggly blond hair and light blue eyes. "And into the bank account of this man…"

"Who's 'Mark Desmond'?" Diggle asked, reading over Felicity's shoulder.

"And why is Infinity paying him $1.5 million a month?" Oliver added.

"Well, that's what I thought you guys could find out," Felicity pulled up another window on her screen. "According to these articles, Mark Desmond is a chemist who's devoted years of research on trying to find a cure for a rare form of bone cancer…which apparently his wife died from last year." She picked up a sheet of paper and wrote an address down on it. "I thought you two could do a little surveillance, and figure out his connection to Infinity."

Oliver walked over to his bow and picked it up. "Sounds like a walk in the park," he said, flashing Felicity a quick grin. Diggle winked at her and followed Oliver.

"Be careful!" she called back.

She leaned back into her chair, and turned up the police scanners, just in case something else that needed Oliver's attention popped up. This was the hardest part of her job: no matter how easy the case, she always hated staying behind and waiting for them to come back.

* * *

Oliver stood on the roof, looking over the building where Felicity had directed him when he saw another figure scaling the sidewall.

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, running to the east side of the roof to get a better look.

"Oliver," he heard Felicity's voice through his earpiece, "What's going on? What do you see?"

"There's someone else here," Oliver told her.

"What?! Who?"

"I don't know…I can barely make anything out except that he's dressed in black…and has a mask on. He's obviously delusional."

"Oliver, people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones," Felicity chided.

Oliver ignored her. "Dig, you see him?"

"Yeah, I see him. It looks like he's heading the same place we are," Digg observed. "See him now? Same window we're targeting."

"I'm going in," Oliver informed his partners, shooting an arrow towards the opposite side of the building to create a zip line that would allow him the quickest access to the ground. Before he could make his way to the open window, gunshots rang out, and Oliver ducked behind a dumpster. He watched in awe as he masked black figure jumped out of the window.

"He just jumped out of the building," Oliver whispered to Felicity and Diggle. "I told you he was delusional. Better call for an ambu—what…"

He watched as the figure did a quadruple somersault, and landed gracefully on the ground. He moved with speed that surprised Oliver. Gunshots continued to ring out around him, but none hit him, and he sprinted out of sight.

The gunshots ceased, and Oliver spotted a security guard appear from the window.

"Where did he go?" he overheard two men talking.

"You're sure it was human?" he heard the second man ask.

"Call Dr. Desmond, NOW."

"How are we going to explain that someone just flew out the window?"

"Who was that and what was he after?" Oliver asked himself, as he moved deftly in the opposite direction.

"Digg, we need to get out of here," he said, aloud.

"Oliver, I heard gunshots, are you guys okay?" Felicity asked. He could tell from her tone she had been holding her breath.

"They weren't shooting at me. I'm fine," he said. He reached Digg, who was waiting behind the wheel of the car. "We're coming home."

He heard her exhale in relief. "Good. I'll be waiting."


	6. Chapter 6

Felicity caught sight of Richard walking into the coffee shop. For a second, their eyes met, but she quickly turned her attention away from him and directed it towards her tablet.

"You know, I'm beginning to think I need to find a new coffee shop…or to file a restraining order," she said, when he was within earshot, eyes still stuck to the screen.

"I'm here to apologize." He stood beside her, and although she refused to meet his gaze, she noted that at least he sounded sincere.

"Felicity…Wayne Enterprises wanted you because of your qualifications. Bruce was sure you'd jump at the job. And he wanted me to offer it…"

"Because he knew about your history with Oliver," Felicity finished, finally looking at him,

"I'm not proud of it…" He looked sheepish.

Felicity sighed, placing her chin in her hand and resting her elbow on the table, glaring at him. He flashed back to the same look his mother used to give him when calling him out on a lie.

"Okay, actually, I am," he blurted out, surprised at how quickly she got that confession out of him. What was it about her that made it so difficult to stick to his story? She had a quality; he couldn't put his finger on it, but she made him feel completely exposed. As his heartbeat quickened, he focused on his breathing, reminding himself that he had secrets that needed to stay hidden, and that she was unconsciously threatening his ability to do that.

"I've been waiting a _long_ time to do that. But I _am_ sorry you had to see it. "

"Well, at least we're getting closer to the truth," she mumbled, her eyes wide, obviously not convinced. "You sound…something resembling sincere, but I'm not the person you should be apologizing to."

Richard scoffed and clenched his jaw. "You can't be serious."

"He was stranded on an island for _five _years. He watched his dad die, he watched the people he tried to survive with, die." She threw him another look, and he was surprised how effective she was at making him feel guilt. "You _really_ don't think Oliver's had enough karma for a lifetime of his sins? If you still think that after all that, he deserved that punch, you're not a person I'm interested in getting to know."

Richard sighed. It was clear that he underestimated whatever it was that existed between her and Oliver. He knew that they weren't dating; she wouldn't have agreed to coffee with him if they were, and he's pretty sure it would have been Oliver throwing the punches at the sight of them together, if the past is anything to go by.

He and Oliver had spent a semester together in Brown. The Queens donated a small fortune to get their son in, but even that failed to convince the school not to expel him after discovering that he was running a fight club…and an underground casino. Oliver had a temper; he remembered that much clearly. He also had an uncanny knack for justifying his indiscretions.

"Come on, man, I swear she threw herself at me," Oliver had once tried to argue.

"'Hey, Kate, Richard's a friend of mine, I can't do this.' Never occurred to you to say that? You have a _girlfriend_!"

"Who's not here. It's been almost two weeks since I've had _any_, man. That's a _long _time."

He had wanted to throw that punch years ago, but he wasn't going to risk getting kicked out of Brown, not for a lowlife like Oliver Queen. Bruce had been clear about his expectations, and it was not in Richard's nature to betray the people closest to him. Loyalty was a virtue Oliver obviously lacked in spades. He made sure the Dean discovered Oliver's extracurricular activities, but it never quite quelled the outrage he felt over the transgression; the punch was far more satisfying.

It occurred to Richard that Felicity's anger, given her knowledge of his motivations, went beyond what he expected from anyone who knew Oliver back then. In fact, he had never seen any of Bruce's employees with as much devotion, save himself, Alfred, and Lucius Fox.

"There is no way to you that doesn't go through Oliver Queen, is there?" he asked, the weight of that truth weighing down on him. He had seconds to consider what mattered more to him: his pride, or the chance to get to know Felicity Smoak.

She looked away for a second, pondering her answer. "He's not the person you think he is. I wouldn't be here if he was." She rose from her chair, returning her tablet back to her bag, and picking up her coffee cup from the table. With a shrug, she said, "Ball's in your court." She was already walking away when he answered.

"I'm pretty sure you have my balls in your hand," he called out, drawing stares from bystanders.

He couldn't see that he had made her smile.

* * *

"Need a ride?" Oliver asked, stopping by Felicity's desk at the end of the day.

"Actually, it's pretty quiet tonight…we still haven't figured out who was there last night, and the money trail seems to have gone cold…which is to say Infinity is trying to cover all tracks that lead to Mark Desmond." Felicity adjusted her glasses, and started clearing her table. She bit her lower lip, nervous energy coursing through her. "Besides...I have a date."

She couldn't bear to look at him. It was over a year ago, but it wasn't an incident she would forget easily-his reaction to her visiting Barry. He had swallowed his pride long enough to apologize, and to acknowledge that they were a team, but it barely scratched the surface of what was between them, and they both knew it. Moira's campaign, the truth of Thea's parentage, his relationship with Sara, Slade's return—it allowed them to bury their feelings under more layers, so deep that they could both pretend it didn't exist.

"I'll come by after, okay?" her tone, soft and reassuring.

Oliver's eyebrows came closer together, his head jerking to the side slightly, as he tried to process her words. "Who are you..." he looked confused for a second before it hit him. He huffed, and with measured beats, enunciated, "You've. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me."

"Well, that explains the apology," he muttered under his breath.

"Oliver," she said, getting up and stopping in front of him. "It's one date. One," she assured him, holding a finger up. She let her hand come up and rest on his shoulder for a second before sliding it down the to his elbow, a non-verbal reminder to relax his hands, which were now balled into fists. "You've let people off the hook for a lot less." Her hand came back up and down again, deliberately, one more time, and he stretched his fingers in response.

"I'll see around 10, okay?" She was smiling at him, and she looked genuinely excited to be going out.

It struck him then how dramatically their roles had reversed. He had not realized it before, but this moment made it clear: while his authority over her had waned over time, her hold over him was stronger than ever. She knew exactly what to do and say to get him to calm down, but unlike him, she did it because it was what he needed. The look she gave him, right then, let him know that while she was going out to dinner with Richard Grayson, her loyalty still lay with him.

He managed to turn the corners of his lips upwards in a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. He wanted to tell her that Richard wasn't the only victim of their friendship. Oliver had been betrayed too, but that sounded petty and jealous, and since his last outburst related to Barry, he had promised to support her happiness, at all costs. His stomach tightened at the thought of her smiling at Richard for a good portion of the evening, but he didn't tell her that. Instead, he nodded at her and said, "Yeah...sure. Have fun."

"Thanks," she whispered, squeezing his arm one more time before grabbing her bag and walking away. He was still staring after her when Diggle arrived.

"Where's she going?" he asked.

"She has a date. With Richard Grayson," Oliver replied, grabbing his jacket.

"The suit," Diggle acknowledged.

"What does she see in him?" Oliver wondered aloud as the two men stepped into the elevator.

"Uh, self-made millionaire, People Magazine's Most Eligible Bachelor list," Diggle responded. "She could do worse, but probably not better."

Oliver pressed the button that would take them to the lobby, taking in a sharp breath. He exhaled sharply, gritting his teeth. "It was a rhetorical question, Diggle."


	7. Chapter 7

She had suggested Table Salt. It was hers, Oliver's, and Diggle's favorite restaurant.

"So, I have to ask…why the move? IT to Executive Assistant. That's quite a step…down." Richard asked, handing the server back his menu.

"Oliver is technologically challenged," she explained. "Spending five years on a deserted island does that to a person…he still has no idea how Twitter or Facebook work." The fabricated truths rolled off her tongue easily. She had rehearsed them countless of times with Oliver and Diggle, since her first police interrogation with Detective Lance revealed what a lousy liar she was.

"Plus, he's _completely_ averse to working out, and apparently 18 flights to get down to the IT department is too much…and that's with using an elevator." She added that last part herself, just because the thought of Oliver _not_ working out was so incredulous, it struck her as funny.

"I was half expecting you to admit to a sordid affair," Richard admitted.

"You and all of Queen Consolidated. You know, I'm pregnant with twins. According to the National Enquirer. Oh, and it's through in-vitro." She lowered her voice and leaned in, her hand coming up to her mouth as though telling him a secret. "Because apparently, Oliver's boys can't swim."

Richard laughed. Brains, beauty, and a sense of humor; she was definitely out of Oliver's league. He acknowledged that, saying, "He doesn't seem like your type."

"Really?" Felicity found it refreshing that she had finally met someone who wasn't commenting about how she must feel about Oliver. It always made her feel small to have someone point out that she _must _be in love with her boss. Of course she loved him; there was no doubt about that, just like she knew he loved her. But in what way, she never let herself consider. Too much was at stake, and things were great the way they were.

Still, she felt the need to defend Oliver; she didn't want Richard to think he could throw backhanded insults without her noticing. "I mean, yeah, he's _totally_ not my type. He's a billionaire who looks like a Greek God, and I like my men far more normal—deep in debt, and ordinary looking," she said, sarcastically, interlocking her fingers and resting her chin on them.

Richard laughed again. "Guess I don't stand a chance then."

Her expression changed, and her eyes narrowed at him. "Do girls actually fall for this 'I'm too sexy' act of yours?" she asked, genuinely curious.

Again, he found himself speechless. She didn't have much of a filter, but he found that endearing. He never had to guess what she was thinking; it just came flying out of her mouth.

"Most women I date aren't members of MENSA. So, yeah, usually it works."

This time it was Felicity who laughed. The more she got to know Richard Grayson, the more charming she found him.

"Do you like your job?" he asked, fishing for any indication that he could still convince her to work for Wayne Enterprises. Bruce already had Human Resources going through the short list of candidates for the Applied Sciences position, but Richard would figure it out. The last hour had made it clear the apology was worth _this_, whatever _this_ was.

"Working for Oliver? Yeah. I like some parts more than others." She thought of the Foundry and how much she enjoyed hacking government agencies and tracking offshore bank accounts. Her day job wasn't nearly as challenging or exciting.

"It's just hard to imagine you fetching coffee and making restaurant reservations."

"For you and Oliver both, seeing as I don't do either of those things," she admitted, with a twinkle in her eye.

"So what is it, exactly, that you do for Oliver Queen?" he asked, confused.

Felicity took another sip of wine, and looked coyly at him. "I'd tell you…but then I'd have to kill you."


	8. Chapter 8

"You got somewhere to be?" Diggle asked. Oliver had turned to the clock for the fifth time in the last hour. He had been distracted during their sparring session, and Digg had gotten more jabs in than usual. One was good; six usually meant Oliver was fighting the flu, or nursing a few bruised ribs, neither of which seemed to be the case tonight. He knew exactly why, but he didn't bring it up. If Oliver wanted to talk about it, he'd offer his opinion, but Digg knew there was a greater chance he'd hear more about what happened on the island than anything related to how he felt about Felicity.

"It's well past 10. She's late, again," Oliver frowned, trying to pass off his concern as annoyance. The thought of the date going well, like back-to-his-hotel-room-or-her-place-well, made him consider heading upstairs for a drink...or ten.

"Maybe we should call it a night, Oliver. Head home. Live it up and and attempt to get more than five hours of sleep?" Digg suggested.

Oliver nodded in agreement, trying to talk himself out of getting drunk. He grabbed his phone on the table nearby and checked it. Nothing.

He didn't want to be the first one to text, but he also didn't want her to show up to an empty lair, so he sent her a message: "Digg and I are heading out."

As Digg gathered his things, Oliver stole a quick glance at Felicity's empty chair. He heard his phone ding and looked down: "Sorry, Oliver. Lost track of time. Still at Table Salt, but they're closing soon."

"No problem. See you tomorrow." He replied, and put his phone back in his pocket.

"Heading out, man?" Digg asked, jerking his head towards the door.

"I'll be right behind you." Oliver grabbed his jacket, and turned back to the empty Foundry. He stretched his neck, placing his hand where Diggle had managed to hit him earlier, and promised to pay it back tomorrow. He made his way to the light switch and turned it off, letting out a slow breath as darkness enclosed him. Feeling defeated despite not having gone on patrol, he stepped out into the cold, evening air, and closed the gate behind him.

* * *

"No problem. See you tomorrow." She looked at her phone screen, and wondered if he was okay. He had kept his texts curt, which was normal for Oliver, but she couldn't shake the feeling that this date had bothered him more than he was willing to admit. She knew that it wasn't just because she was seeing someone; it was because it was Richard, who was as close a friend to Oliver as Isabel Rochev was to her. She still remembered how much it stung—not because she wanted him for herself, but because she was pretty sure Isabel was evil, and that Oliver shouldn't be in bed with her professionally, much less literally. She still didn't understand his history with Richard.

If she was looking at it objectively, the punch was justified, but it was always difficult to be objective when it came to Oliver. His anger was still there, simmering in a pot of emotions, only she couldn't figure out why. He was reasonable, and this was uncharacteristic of him. It was always unnerving when she couldn't figure something out, especially when it came to him. It crossed her mind that he was hiding something, but pushed that possibility out her mind; she and Oliver didn't keep secrets from each other. Full disclosure was a given in their friendship, and she trusted him completely.

"Everything okay?" Richard asked, holding her coat up for her to get into. She nodded and smiled at him, as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

"Fine, I just forgot about Oliver…I mean, something I was supposed to do for him," she confessed.

He opened the door for her, and they stepped out in the cool air as the space behind them dimmed. It was quiet now, and much colder than she expected.

"I'll get us a cab," Richard offered, holding his hand out and moving towards the sidewalk, even though no cars were driving past.

Richard had enjoyed dinner so much that he let his defenses down for the night.

After retrieving the information Bruce needed the night before, he was told his part of the job was done. Lucius would comb through the financials, and Richard would be heading back to Gotham soon. That part of the equation disheartened him; he'd be heading back without her, because she was choosing Oliver Queen. Professionally, he told himself.

He didn't notice the black van that had followed them to the restaurant earlier that evening.

"Crap," he thought to himself, as three masked men emerged from it.

He would have to explain to Felicity how he managed to beat all three guys to a bloody pulp, which is exactly what he planned to do. This was going to be easy, and he was so confident of that fact that he actually smiled at the goons circling him.

"Hey, guys. Look, if you just walk away now, I won't come after you," he said cockily, taking a fighting stance.

"How about, you get in the van, and I don't kill her?" he heard a voice behind him. He whipped around and he froze at the sight of the knife at Felicity's throat.


	9. Chapter 9

Felicity noticed the black van the moment they stepped out of the restaurant. Diggle had repeated it enough times: "Always be aware of your surroundings. You can't prepare when you don't see trouble coming." Her night job had taught her that unmarked vans parked on empty streets almost always meant trouble.

She kept her eye on the van, her instincts telling her to move as far away from it as possible. Before she could warn Richard, she saw the three men emerge and surround him. It surprised her how calm he was. If his facial expression was anything to go by, he looked as though he almost relished the challenge. She thought she even saw him smirk at his oncoming attackers, and he was definitely talking to them, although she couldn't hear what he was saying. He spread his legs apart, ever so slightly, and held out his hands at a position that let her know this wasn't his first brawl. If the punch he threw at Oliver was any indication, he knew how to handle himself in a fight. But this was three guys? Why wasn't he more worried? The only people she had observed maintain that same level of composure against odds like these were Oliver and Diggle, but she actually knew that they could handle themselves. So far, all she knew about Richard was that he was overconfident, bordering on cocky.

It was at that point when she realized she still had her phone in her hand. Without turning to look at the screen, she pressed "1" and hit send. There were many reasons Oliver was number one on her speed dial list, but she never imagined herself calling him at the end of a date. She was bringing the phone up to hear ear when she felt a strong arm reach out and grab her waist, followed by a blade being pushed, ever so slightly, into the side of her neck. She made sure her palm covered the device, and pulled it back to her side.

"How about, you get in the van, or I kill her?" the rough voice by her ear called out to Richard.

It occurred to her that they wanted Richard alive if they were telling him to get in the van. They would be searching them for phones, and there was no way she was going to be able to hold on to hers, unless…

She pretended to stumble back, and placed her hands behind her to steady herself against her attacker. When he strengthened his grip on her, she slipped her phone stealthily into the pocket of his black leather jacket. She knew she could disarm him easily—Diggle had covered similar situations in their many training sessions together, and had evaluated her technique as exceptional (of course, it had taken about two years to get to that point)—but she couldn't risk it, not when she saw two guns emerge from the hands of the men close to Richard, ushering him towards the van. Their eyes met, and she noted that his expression had changed dramatically in a manner of seconds; his confidence was now replaced with concern, and he held her gaze even as he followed their instructions.

"Get his phone," directed one man.

"Check for hers," instructed another.

She felt her attacker pat down the pockets of her coat, and then grab her bag from her other hand. "I can't find it!" he yelled back.

"I left it at work," she said, letting her voice shake. It wasn't hard to pretend to be scared, but she had hope that Oliver had picked up the call and was listening to every word. And if he was, he would come for her. She had no doubt about that.

* * *

Oliver couldn't help but smile when he saw Felicity's name flicker across his phone screen.

"Hey, how was dinner?" he said in one breath, not even trying to hide his relief. Her calling him was a good thing; it meant Richard wasn't spending the night.

His body tensed as he heard an unfamiliar set of voices wafting through the speaker.

"I left my phone at work," he heard Felicity say nervously. "What do you want?"

"Get in the van," a man said loudly.

Oliver turned to his phone, and opened an app Felicity created herself which allowed them to track phone conversations. He turned to find Diggle, who was already pulling out of his parking space a short distance away. He didn't even bother putting on his helmet; he jumped swiftly on his bike and stepped on the pedal, skidding to a stop right in front of Digg's car. The vehicle screeched as it came to an abrupt halt, not two feet away from Oliver.

"Oliver, what the hell?!" Digg yelled, poking his head out of the window. "I could have killed you."

In response, Oliver held up his phone and said two words. "It's Felicity."

It was a testimony not only to their friendship, but also their working partnership that Diggle didn't ask for details at that moment. From watching Oliver, he knew she was in trouble; any question he asked would simple be ignored. His partner was going to communicate in as few words as possible because he was now preoccupied with forming a plan of action. Oliver thought fast on his feet, and he excelled under pressure. It was what made him so good at being the Arrow.

"I've got your change of clothes in the trunk," Digg said, clicking the trunk open.

Oliver nodded, grabbing the black duffel bag that was hidden where the spare tire belonged. Now, all he needed was his bow.


	10. Chapter 10

"Come on, guys. You don't need her," Richard tried to reason, knowing it was futile.

He felt hands pat him down, and felt his phone removed from his suit pocket. He let them bind his hands behind his back, knowing he'd be out of the ropes in seconds once he had a chance to work on them. Patience was a virtue. The opportunity to escape would present itself, he told himself; it always did.

After they had tied Felicity's hands, they pushed her into the van behind him.

"You okay?" he whispered, his eyes scanning hers. She nodded in response. She was surprisingly calm.

"Fine, you?"

He grinned at her. "Me? Never better."

"At least you've still got your sense of humor."

"Don't worry...I'm going to get us out of this."

"Right," she said, turning away from him so he wouldn't see her rolling her eyes. If anyone was going to get them out of this, it was Oliver. She couldn't very well tell him that.

"You are handling this exceptionally well," he pointed out, his eyes narrowed almost suspiciously. He started working on the ropes, swinging his arms under his feet so that he could see what he was dealing with. He almost chuckled aloud at how easy it was going to be.

"Me? I'm terrified," she tried to sound convincing. "This is my scared-to-death face." In truth, she was trying to figure out what her next move was if Oliver didn't answer her call. What if he and Diggle weren't on their way? She wasn't feeling particularly confident that Richard Grayson was actually capable of doing much in the way of getting them out of anything. What could he possibly know about taking on four armed men? Possibly more?

Two years of regular self-defense training, under the insistence of both Oliver and Diggle, had given her enough skills to surpass what the average man could do. Diggle had praised her progress during their last sparring session, after she successfully threw him down on the mat. It was a proud moment in Felicity's relatively quiet life, knowing that she could finally, to some degree, kick butt. Not that she ever wanted to be put in a position to prove herself, but as the case turned out to be, she didn't have much choice in the matter.

"Your scared face looks a lot like your I-have-work-to-do-and-I'm-annoyed-at-you face," he mused, slipping effortlessly out of the ropes.

"How did you learn to do that?" she narrowed her eyes, rethinking her initial assessment of his capabilities.

"I grew up on a circus…before Bruce took me in," he told her, working on her ropes. "Keep your arms behind you when we get to wherever it is these guys are taking us."

She nodded in understanding, ignoring that he sounded a lot like Oliver at this moment. The van came a stop and a man threw the door open.

"Get out," he ordered, waving a gun in front of them. Richard glanced at Felicity, and followed. "You too," he said, this time to Felicity. She walked out of the van obediently, keeping her hands out of sight as instructed.

Richard was fast—and her jaw almost dropped open as she watched him spin around and twist the arm of the attacker nearest him.

"Get cover!" he yelled to her, anticipating gun shots at any moment. She ran to the side of the van, sneaking a peek at him.

He hit the man squarely in the chest, and used him as a human shield as two other men started shooting at him. He was quick—maybe even as fast as Oliver—at disabling his attacker, and he moved with both an extraordinary amount of force and grace. He dodged his opponents strikes with ease, and then there was the series of roundhouse kicks delivered with precision that left her gaping. In no time, three men were lying facedown on the pavement. The fourth man had taken the keys and run off, yelling for help.

Felicity opened her mouth to say something, but found herself speechless—one of the few times in her life. "Where did you learn that?" she finally asked.

"Bruce was insistent about self-defense lessons," he said, wrapping his fingers around her elbow and gently leading her to the driver's side of the van. He sighed when he noticed there would be no way to hotwire the vehicle—it was one of the newer ones, which meant it wouldn't start without the actual key. "Technology's a bitch," he mumbled. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," she mused. In the distance, they could hear men running and yelling, approaching them quickly. For the second time that night, Felicity felt strong arms grab her, and this time a gun was placed next to her temple. "Don't move," a voice said.

"It's always a mistake when your attacker comes up too close," she heard Diggle's voice in her head, and she grabbed the gun with her left hand, and elbowed him square in the chest. Digg had taught her exactly where to aim to knock the wind out of someone, and she threw her weight into it, taking her attacker by surprise.

"Where did you learn that?" Richard asked, his eyes wide, as Felicity bent down and hit her adversary with the butt of his own gun, knocking him out cold.

"Uh…" she hadn't thought of how to explain that to him, and he already took the self-defense classes excuse. "I'm really into…action movies," she heard herself say, her cheeks flushed as her body responded to the lie.

He threw her a questioning look, and she felt the need to change the subject. "So…which way?" Before Richard could answer, shots rang out and he pulled her down behind the van and covered her with his body.

At a distance, she could hear the familiar swish of arrows and she recognized the screams of pain that rang out. She smiled to herself, knowing that Oliver was using non-lethal force to subdue the men who surrounded them.

Richard lifted his head to see what was going on, and watched the hooded vigilante now engaging in hand-to-hand combat. "Damn, he's good," he thought to himself, admiring the green figure's agility and ability to aim and hit a moving target while also on the run. He kept a protective arm over Felicity as the Arrow got closer to them.

"Don't!" she warned, as she saw Oliver lift a small gun and aim it at Richard, but it was too late. The dart that went into Richard's neck caught him off guard, and Felicity watched as his eyes glazed over, and his body went limp.

"Was that really necessary?" she hissed at him when he was within earshot. She pulled out the dart and threw him a dirty look, which he promptly ignored.

"Hey," he said, softly, taking a step closer to her. Despite her annoyance, she turned to face him. She felt his gloved fingers trace the side of her neck where the blade had been, his thumb rubbing her jawbone. "You're hurt," he observed, frowning. She hadn't noticed that the knife had nicked her earlier, outside the restaurant.

"Barely," she replied, but she cooperated when he gently tilted her head to check the other side of her neck for more scrapes.

"I'm fine, really." She shook her head ever so slightly, her way of telling him that he should withdraw his hand. He understood immediately and complied, dropping his arm back to his side.

It was always comforting, the attention he gave her during times like these; the way he made it seem like nothing else mattered but her safety. But It was also exhausting. At the beginning, it had taken a concentrated effort not to acknowledge the chemistry between them—she had laid out reason after reason, as methodically as a brick-layer building a wall. Now that it came so naturally to her, his gaze threatened to knock it all down again. It was always so much harder after either one of their lives had been threatened. Experience taught her that, and she vacillated between letting him take care of her, and pushing him away, sometimes minutes apart.

For weeks after the encounters with the Count and Slade, she could feel his eyes on her during quiet moments at the Foundry, or through the glass walls of his office at Queen Consolidated. When she dared to look up, their eyes would meet for a split second before he turned away. He knew she noticed, but she never brought it up. It was an unspoken agreement between them that there were certain things they just wouldn't talk about.

"You okay?" Diggle asked, coming up to their left.

Felicity nodded again, "Thanks for coming."

Diggle smiled at her, and whistled as he looked around the room of fallen men. "Impressive," he said to Oliver.

"It wasn't all me," he responded, looking at Richard. Felicity's eyes darted towards him, and she tried to read him. It nagged at her that she couldn't; the closer she got to Richard Grayson, the more distant Oliver seemed. She made a note to ask him about it, another day, another time. She still had to figure out what had happened tonight.

Diggle picked Richard up like he was a sack of rice. "We should get out of here," he said. "We called Lance on the way over. He can clean up this mess."

She nodded numbly, as Oliver placed his hand on her back and ushered her towards the car. "I'll be right behind you," he told her.

"Oliver, my phone, black leather jacket," she said.

He nodded in understanding. "I'll find it."

She leaned back into the car's soft leather seat, and let him close the door beside her. In the distance, she heard sirens.


	11. Chapter 11

Richard woke up on a couch in an unfamiliar room. He rubbed his neck, which was still sore, and slowly sat up.

"How are you feeling?" Felicity asked, coming to sit beside him.

"Groggy," he said honestly, massaging the area of his skin that made contact with the dart. "What…where…?" As he tried to formulate the question, bits and pieces of the evening's events came back to him.

"Hey, it's okay. We're safe. I know it's a little soon," she said, a small smile on her lips, "But welcome to my apartment."

"How?" He was still struggling to form complete sentences.

"We got lucky. The Arrow…" her voice trailed off. She wasn't sure how to explain Oliver rescuing them, but Richard was so out of it, she hoped she could get away with as little details as possible.

"Shot me," he finished, suddenly remembering the vigilante walking towards him, arm outstretched, dart gleaming. His last memory before waking up on her couch.

"With a sedative dart," Felicity started babbling. "And I'm pretty sure it was an accident. It's not like he was aiming for you on purpose. I mean, that would be ridiculous."

"He comes to your rescue a lot." His speech was slurred, but she could tell he had questions.

"Uh...that's what he does, he's a vigilante. He saves people." She tried to make his observation sound trivial. "And apparently, I'm a magnet for trouble." She was not keen on discussing this point further.

"Right," Richard's responses were curt. It was all he could manage before laying back down.

Felicity ran her fingers through his hair, rubbing the area where the dart had gone in.

"Get some rest," she instructed.

"You know, I was hoping this date would end with me seeing your apartment," he mumbled. "I just...had a different idea of what we'd be doing."

He hadn't meant to say that out loud, but with the tranquilizer still swimming through his veins, it was difficult to filter much of anything. He closed his eyes and thought about how much he wanted full control over his words, and body, again.

Felicity laughed, still stroking his hair. Although his arm felt twice as heavy as normal, he managed to reach over and weave his fingers into hers. To his pleasure, she didn't pull away. He fell back asleep quickly, and didn't wake again until morning.

* * *

Oliver had shown up at her apartment an hour later.

"We could have brought him back to his hotel," Oliver had pointed out, glancing at Richard's frame sprawled across her couch.

"He has questions, and better to answer them as they come than to have him filling in the blanks himself," she argued. "He's been through a lot, Oliver."

She looked at him with an expression that told him she had made up her mind and there was no point arguing. He sighed, the corners of his lips dipping.

"You've been through a lot, too," he said, giving her his own look. It was a look that silently communicated the depths of anxiety he battled that night. He wasn't just acknowledging how hard it had been for her; he was telling her how hard it had been for him, too. The message was clear, despite the absence of words exchanged. That was why, when he took a step towards her, she didn't back away-even though it was the smart thing to do. She was too exhausted to think things through; too tired to keep the wall up. So, when he opened his arms and pulled her towards him, she let him, burying her face into his chest and letting herself feel, for the first time since this newest life-threatening ordeal, truly safe.

"Thank you," she mumbled. "I didn't get to tell you earlier."

She felt his head move up and down in response to her words, his grip as tight as ever, and then his fingers were stroking her hair, drawing her attention to the line in the sand she had drawn years ago; it took everything in her to find the strength to pull away.

"I'm fine," she said, nodding as enthusiastically as she could manage. "I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

"I'll come by and check on you then." His eyes were still locked on hers, and she knew from his tone that he would do it, regardless of what she said.

He reached out and squeezed her shoulder one more time. Then, even though he really didn't want to, he found himself walking out of her apartment and away from her.

* * *

It was a knock on the door that woke Richard. He heard Felicity's footsteps, but didn't stir. He could tell she was making the extra effort to walk quietly .

"He's still asleep," she whispered, closing the door slowly behind Oliver.

"How are you?" Oliver asked, spontaneously reaching out and touching her cheek, letting his finger run over the part of her neck where the knife had cut her. Richard noted a gentleness in his tone that he had never heard before, and felt a twinge of jealousy.

"I'm fine, Oliver. Really," she put her hand over his, and smiled. "Now, any chance we can skip past the next thirty times you plan to ask me that? I can record my answer on your phone, and you can just run it on a loop." She sounded much more like herself this morning, already making jokes.

"I'm allowed to worry," Oliver told her in his usual serious tone, searching her eyes for the truth.

She hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, thinking about the events of the night, trying to figure out what they wanted with Richard…or was it her? Had they connected her to the Arrow? It wasn't about placing blame, but if she could figure whom they were targeting, maybe she could figure out why.

"I'm fine," she repeated, adding emphasis to her words, turning her lips upwards to convince him.

A few seconds passed before they realized Richard was already awake and watching them. Oliver's hand, which was still rested on her neck, retreated quickly, while Felicity tucked her hair nervously behind her ear.

"Good morning," Oliver said to Richard, managing a tight smile. "I heard about last night. How are you feeling?"

"I'm good," Richard said, his tone even, getting to his feet.

Felicity walked over to him, and he noticed Oliver's eyes following her.

"Want some coffee?" she asked, checking quickly to see the bruise that had appeared on his neck.

"Yeah, that sounds great, thanks."

"I guess I'll see you at the office," Oliver finally said, suddenly eager to get out of Felicity's apartment. Watching the two of them together was not how he wanted to start his day. "

"I'll be right behind you," she told him, her fingers landing on his arm as she walked him out. She closed the door behind him and turned to Richard, flashing him a small smile.

"Your boss must really…value you," he said, choosing his words carefully.

"I told you. He's changed." She shrugged, and then made her way to the kitchen and started the coffeemaker for him. "Do you take cream?" she called out.

It took Richard a few seconds to respond as he processed the interaction he had witnessed between them. He flashed back to the café, and saw it there too—the flash of anger in Oliver's eyes at seeing them together, the glances they exchanged, the way he clearly wanted to please her. He replayed the evening events in his head, and grabbed his neck. The Arrow came for them…or maybe just for her. Oliver Queen certainly had the resources, and the traumatic past…

"Son of a…" he trailed off, under his breath, as it all clicked.

Either there were three men in Starling City who cared a great deal about Felicity Smoak, or there were only two.

Oliver Queen was the Arrow.


	12. Chapter 12

"It was a mistake!" Isabel yelled, barging into Oliver's office.

"I couldn't agree more, but it was almost a year ago," Oliver said, flashing her his most charming smile. It was his go-to response when he didn't know what was going on, and right now, he could only assume she meant their little...encounter in Russia. She responded with an icy gaze that let him know that wasn't it.

She was almost always some degree of resentful towards him, but this was rage. "I told you we should have taken the deal."

"And I told you, there were discrepancies in the numbers," Oliver replied, finally understanding what she was talking about.

"If they're good enough for Wayne Enterprises, they're good enough for us!" she spat back.

"Wait, what are you talking about?"

"Infinity. They were being bankrolled by Wayne. You were supposed to do the research."

"Wayne Enterprises never once showed up on the file," Oliver argued, certain that it had never appeared in Felicity's notes.

"Agra Corp. is a subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises." Her jaw was clenched now, words escaping her lips in slow, measured beats . "Which you were supposed to know. And now, Infinity has just raised their buying price by 25%. I swear, Oliver, if you don't fix this, I will make sure this is the last deal you ever overlook on behalf of Queen Consolidated," she threatened, narrowing her eyes at him. She didn't wait for his response before turning on her heels and storming off.

The details were like pieces of a puzzle, and he just had to figure out how they came together. He was staring out his window, trying to make sense of it all, when Richard Grayson walked in.

"Richard. Here to give me another insincere apology?" Oliver jabbed.

"I think one was enough for this lifetime, don't you?"

Oliver laughed. He had perfected a laugh that was meant for moments such as these: moments when he found the situation the very opposite of funny, but needed to put up a front.

"So…what can I do for you?"

"I…know." Richard said, simply, locking eyes with him.

"The…meaning of life?" Oliver's eyebrows were raised, looked at him expectantly.

"I know…who you are."

He smirked, amused. "Yes. I know who I am too…and I'm pretty sure half the country does, too."

"No…" Richard took a step towards him, and repeated, his voice steady and measured. "I. KNOW. WHO. YOU. ARE."

A flicker of understanding entered Oliver's eyes, and he looked sideways in annoyance. His jaw tightened involuntarily, and he took in a deep breath.

"She told you?" The gentleness in his voice a few hours earlier was gone.

"She knows?" Richard's eyes darted to the ceiling. It hadn't occurred to him that she knew. He was too focused on Oliver's secret, he never considered who else was in on it.

Of course she knew. If Richard struggled with keeping his identity a secret in the three days they had known each other, what chance did Oliver have in the three years he worked with her?

"If she didn't tell you…" Oliver furrowed his eyebrows, perplexed.

"Billionaire playboy. Traumatic past. Uses resources to become a vigilante. Not as original a story as you think it is."

"So…what now?" Oliver placed his hands in his pockets, and leaned against his desk. "You don't exactly have the best track record of keeping my secrets."

"You don't have the best track record of keeping your hands off the girls I'm seeing," Richard shot back, acerbically, thinking of his hand on Felicity's neck.

Before Oliver could respond, he heard the familiar clack of Felicity's heels and then she walked into the room.

"Richard? What are you doing here?" She didn't wait for an answer before looking at Oliver, and asking "And what did you say to Isabel this time? She's on a rampage."

"He knows," Oliver said, eyes wide.

"Knows? What are you talk-?" As it dawned on her, she faced Richard, her mouth wide open. "You know?"

"We really should turn this into a drinking game," Richard commented. "We'd all be drunk by now."

"How did you…?" He noticed that she had taken a step away from him, which meant that she was now closer to Oliver.

"I'm smarter than I look," he replied. "And he's not exactly subtle."

"Says the guy who dresses up in black, jumps out of windows, and gets kidnapped by the same thugs whose offices you broke into two nights ago," Oliver says dryly.

What were the odds that Richard Grayson, employee of Wayne Enterprises would show up at the same time as the masked figure, and had learned enough from self-defense classes to fight off three armed men? He wasn't sure, but where Felicity was concerned, he also wasn't great at exercising restraint. Calling Richard out in front of her was too appealing to resist.

Clearly taken by surprise, Richard glared at him.

"How…did…?"

"I'm smarter than I look," Oliver retorted, feeling smug that Richard had just confirmed his suspicions. He kept his eyes on Felicity, and suddenly regretted that he hadn't warned her ahead of time. He hadn't expected her to look so...devastated.

"You were there…that night?" she closed her eyes for a second, and placed her hand on her forehead. "I have the worst taste in guys."

"This went much smoother when I rehearsed it in my head," Richard thought aloud, running his fingers through his hair. "How long have you known?"

"Isabel was just here…chewing me out for not knowing that Agra Corp. is a subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises. It didn't take long to put it all together. You guys pulled funding from Infinity."

"Lucius noticed the discrepancies in the numbers almost a month ago. Infinity denied it, but then shortly after, we heard rumors…that they were looking for new investors. I didn't know Queen Consolidated was on the short list," Richard explained. "The deposits...they lined up with missing persons reports in Gotham. It as all too suspicious. We found out about Mark Desmond, and since I had to come out for…" he gestured towards Felicity. "It was supposed to be simple—in and out. Just to get some inside information."

He turned to Felicity, taking a step towards her, and felt his stomach tighten when she back away from him. "I would never, ever, consciously do anything to put you in danger," he said, his eyes pleading with her to believe him.

"I'm going to need…whatever it is you used to get that information." The coldness in her tone hit him harder than he thought it would.

"Felicity-"

She glared at him for another second. Then, for the second time in three days, he watched as Felicity Smoak turned and walked away from him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** All these characters are fictitious. It is, apparently, impossible to find a name that doesn't show up on Google as an actual person. Also, thank you for the feedback, which helped move this chapter along, especially to Hipkarma, without whom scene 2 of this chapter would never have existed.

* * *

When Felicity returned to her desk, both Oliver and Richard were gone. A yellow-and-black flash drive was waiting on her desk, along with a note that read, "I'm sorry."

She was relieved to have some quiet to herself, even if it was in the office instead of the Foundry-the latter being her preferred space for reflection. Lucky for her, working with Oliver day and night over the last three years had provided ample opportunity to manage through times like these, and Felicity did what she did best: she threw herself completely into work. She plugged the flash drive into her laptop and started sifting through the information.

She hadn't noticed Oliver arrive, until a coffee cup was set down beside her keyboard.

"Tall cappuccino, two shots of espresso," he said, smiling affectionately at her. "You okay?"

She smiled back, feeling grateful that even when she thought he wasn't paying attention, he always seemed to know exactly how to handle an impossible situation. She told herself to nod, but it was too far from the truth. He would see right through her; there was no point pretending that she felt anything other than played.

"You knew at the warehouse, didn't you?" The look on his face then was all she could think about now.

"I wasn't sure." He looked away for a moment. "But I had my suspicions."

He paused, trying to find the exact words to explain himself. "I saw him, taking on those guys. And he had this expression...he wasn't scared, Felicity. If anything, he looked like it was almost fun. And then I remembered something else."

"What?"

"The masked figure…when he jumped out of that building, the way he'd stuck that landing. I'd seen it before. Back in college, Richard was a male stuntman on the Cheerleading Team."

"He was a cheerleader?" she said, her tone incredulous. She couldn't help the smile that broke through at the thought of _that._

"It was his master plan to meet girls. Worked like a charm too. It's how he met Kate…the girlfriend I…you know…" He cleared his throat, eyeing her reaction.

"I _know_," she acknowledged, not meaning to sound annoyed.

"He used to jump off the bleachers…you know…for fun. Stuck the landing every time."

Oliver leaned down and put his hand over hers. She looked up and met his eyes, full of both guilt and contrition.

"Felicity...I should have told you first."

The corners of her lips turned up, and she squeezed his hand quickly before pulling it away and wrapping her fingers around her coffee cup. It was the most organic way she could think of to keep the wall up. She was feeling especially vulnerable, and the last thing she needed was another moment with Oliver that compromised her emotional health.

"He was holding a Full House, Oliver. You had to show him your hand was just as strong." She dipped her chin slightly, her eyes still looking up at him, an indication that she wasn't mad; that she understood, and there was no damage done between them. She quickly changed the subject, wanting to focus on anything other than Richard Grayson.

"I checked the missing persons reports Richard mentioned. It was a little more challenging that I thought it would be...hacking into Gotham's police department. Anyway, I compared race, gender, age, trying to find the common thread. Kept coming up empty, until I followed a hunch and looked at their medical records. Again, Gotham's hospitals have firewalls in place that are _almost_ impressive."

She pulled up several windows on her laptop for Oliver to compare, and pointed to the diagnosis windows on several.

"They're all in the early stages of-"

"The exact same disease Mark Desmond's wife died from. You said he was a chemist…"

"Yeah, but I checked his undergrad. He graduated pre-med from Johns Hopkins before taking his master's degree in Chemistry from Duke…"

"He's trying to find a cure," Oliver surmised. "What does that have to do with Infinity?"

"Infinity's CEO is Tim Barclay."

"I know. I've met him. And?" It was always a challenge, keeping up with Felicity.

"Mark Barclay's wife is suffering from the same disease," she pulled up another window, showing Oliver the file. "She's in the advanced stages."

"We've got to find Mark Desmond."

* * *

Richard leaned back, put his feet up on the desk, and held the tablet steady in front of him.

"You are losing your edge if Oliver Queen figured it out." A red-haired beauty with pink-rimmed glasses and blue eyes occupied the screen.

"He's changed. Unfortunately. For the better." Richard acknowledged.

"And that's unfortunate?" It was in between a question and a statement.

"Yeah. He actually did some growing up. Might be a decent guy."

"Richard, a decent guy would keep your secret. That's a good thing."

Richard nodded, popping a potato chip in his mouth and chewing noisily. He hadn't told her about Oliver being the Arrow. He correctly assumed that Felicity would have nothing to do with him if she ever found out he blew the whistle on Oliver Queen, not once, but twice. His disdain for Oliver had nothing to do with either of them knowing the other's secret. It hinged solely on the incorruptible bond he shared with Felicity. Oliver was the competition, whether or not he or Felicity would acknowledge it.

"So, oh-wise-Oracle, what should I do?"

"You know I can't actually tell the future, right?"

Richard shrugged, "Thought I'd have more luck with you than the Magic Eight Ball. Actually, I would have settled on the Magic Eight Ball...except I left it in Gotham."

She laughed. Richard was always good for a laugh.

"Charm your way into forgiveness," she advised. "Always worked for me."

"Uh, it didn't the night you broke up with me," he pointed out, grinning.

"I remember," Barbara Gordon said, taking a deep breath. She paused for a moment, just looking at him.

Amused by her silence, he teased, "And you thought this whole friends thing was going to be awkward."

Their relationship had ended nearly two years earlier, and they were evolving into something that wasn't better or worse, just different from what they had. They had finally moved past the bitterness, and into rare terrain for exes: friends. Six months ago, she had begun dating someone else, and it was seeing her thrive in a new relationship that really gave him a sense of closure. There was too much drama between them, and while the love would always be there, he had learned that sometimes, letting go and moving on was really the best option. Sometimes, the best thing for a relationship is a new start...with someone else.

Barbara laughed again. "Start with the truth. If she's as smart as you say she is, she'll give you another chance."

"Thanks, Babs."

"Anytime. And Richard? I hope you win this round with Oliver Queen."

"Oh, I intend to," he said, clicking on the red telephone icon on the screen.


	14. Chapter 14

To everyone who just started reading, I removed the notes I had in the story when I first published because it makes for a smoother reading experience, but seeing as I'm dealing with a huge, very passionate Olicity fan base, I thought it best to add this: I am a huge Olicity shipper but Oliver does NOT get the girl at the end of this story. I started writing because I didn't like the direction of the show. I was frustrated with the recent change in the characterization of Felicity (add me to the group that thought "You'll always be my girl" was patronizing after saying they were partners), and the focus on Oliver-Sara. But the more I wrote, the clearer it became that the story I set out to tell wasn't the one I was going to end up with. This story explores how Oliver feels when Felicity truly finds someone who is real competition for him. I have an arc for these characters, and I would love to continue writing, but the reviews/private messages that "attack" me for not bringing Oliver-Felicity together are draining. I want those two together SO MUCH, but this is not the story where it makes sense for that to happen. Thanks for getting this far with me, and I hope that some of you will stick around for the end of this story, and maybe the beginning of the next.

* * *

"You're here." Oliver stated, surprise registering on his face as he tracked Felicity moving from the Foundry entrance to her desk. He and Diggle had spent the last hour sparring, and he was feeling much more focused, which was great...but not for Diggle.

"Yeah. We've been doing this thing, remember? We come here after work, kick back, catch a couple of bad guys." Felicity took a seat in front of her monitors, and turned two of them on. "And we had this conversation...just a few hours ago...about finding Mark Desmond?"

"I just...thought you might want to take the night off." He was pouting.

Felicity sighed. The last thing she needed was Oliver treating her like she shouldn't be exactly where she knew she needed to be. Being home alone was far worse.

"Last time I took the night off, I got kidnapped because apparently, I was on a date with a masked vigilante. Think I'll take my chances here."

"Wanna to talk about it?" Diggle asked, the weight of his hand bearing down on her shoulder.

"Already did," she pointed her thumb towards herself, "Me and a pint of mint chocolate ice cream had a long conversation about the kind of men I attract."

"You know, Oliver and I listen better than ice cream."

"Yes, but you don't taste nearly as good…and we are all going to ignore how dirty that sounded," she said, refusing to look at Diggle and Oliver, both of whom were stifling a laugh. "Now can we get back to work?"

She was relieved when Oliver moved to the other side of the room, turning his attention to sharpening his arrows, while Diggle lingered behind her.

"Hey," his voice was softer and gentler this time around, and the look of concern he was giving her was soothing her pride as effectively as all the calories she had consumed earlier. He was playing a hunch that she would open up without Oliver listening in. And he was right.

Felicity nodded, absently running her fingers in concentric circles around her keyboard, letting the familiar, smooth texture of the keys center her. "I just want to meet someone...normal, you know? Dresses _down _at the end of the day instead of dressing _up."_ She looked up and met his eyes._ "_That too much to ask?"

She was never one to throw herself a pity party; however bad things got for her, she always knew it was worse for someone else. But right then, under Diggle's compassionate gaze, she felt herself emotionally stripped down, facing how she _really_ felt, instead of what she was telling herself to feel; that is, Felicity was grappling with what her naiveté and gullibility had gotten her into this time. She never doubted her intelligence when it came to what she could learn through a book. Common sense, however, was a completely different story.

Diggle moved his head vertically. "I don't know, Felicity...sounds a little boring for you."

"Boring would be welcome, after all this."

He shrugged, then made a sweeping gesture towards her computers. "This. All this...this is who you are, Felicity. You catch bad guys. We could never do all this without you...and maybe...maybe you just happen to attract guys who do the same." His eyes darted quickly sideways, towards Oliver, and then back to her, so subtle she almost missed it.

She inhaled slowly, holding her breath for a second, letting his words hang in the air so she could process them. She felt lucky to have him; John Diggle, who always knew exactly what to say, exactly when she needed to hear it. She leaned her head unto the top of her backrest, and smiled up at him.

"Thanks, Dig."

He returned her smile, and then gave her shoulders a light squeeze, as if to say "no problem." Then, before walking away, he glanced at her again.

"Besides, normal is overrated, Felicity. You, of all people, know that." He winked at her, and went to challenge Oliver to a rematch.

Felicity turned back towards her computer screens, but couldn't focus on work. She flashed back to her life before meeting Oliver and Diggle-most nights spent alone. There was the occasional date which evolved into a short-term relationship a few times. But John was right: she was bored, and they never lasted. And when they ended, she never felt the urge to cry over them. They just didn't matter enough.

These days, life was significantly more complicated. She had been threatened, more than once, and there were countless more tears (or moments fighting them). She had seen people die, and there was no greater motivation in reflecting on how you want to live than seeing that option taken away from someone else. It was why she stayed after they found Walter; why she helped John patrol the glades when Oliver left; why she prepared the Foundry for his return, and why she stood by him when he picked the hood back up. If she had to do it all over again, she would make the same choice: she would give up normal and safe and boring for Oliver Queen and John Diggle. There was no doubt about that.

* * *

"Come on Felicity, open the door. I'm not leaving until you talk to me."

It had been over an hour. Richard Grayson had spent that entire time standing outside her door, leaning his head against it, knocking consistently every few minutes.

"I have stamina like you wouldn't believe," he bragged. "I could do this all night."

"Yep, definitely a restraining order," Felicity said as she threw the door open, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Look at us, already having our first fight," Richard said, grinning confidently.

She continued to glare at him, and he shifted his feet under the weight of her very angry stare, his morale plummeting by the second.

"Clearly it's too soon for me to be making jokes," he acknowledged, his smile disappearing.

"Dick—" she said. "Can I call you Dick?"

"I refuse to answer that question on the grounds you look really pissed."

"What. Are. You. Doing. Here?" Felicity was a fast talker—her mouth constantly trying to catch up with her mind. So, whenever she slowed down and enunciated, there was reason to be concerned.

"I think you know."

"Actually, I don't." She laughed bitterly. "First, you came to Starling City to offer me a job. Then it was to get back at Oliver, and _now_ it's to do a little breaking and entering. So I don't know because your story keeps changing. I don't know because in the three days we've known each other, I can't tell how many lies you've fed me. Did you even grow up in a circus?"

"Yes. There!" he said, his pointer finger jumping out in front of him, a little too enthusiastically. "That was the truth. I get credit for that, right?"

One look at her clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows made it clear he was still in the red.

"Still too soon?"

"Is this a joke to you?" she yelled. "Do I look amused?"

"No. No. You look the very opposite of amused and all this is a mad attempt to lighten the mood because that's what I do; I make lemonade out of lemons...or at least, I try." He threw his hands up. "And I'm a creature of habit, even though you're clearly having murderous thoughts towards me at this moment."

"Do you know I have an IQ score of 160? So it's really saying a lot when someone makes me feel stupid."

He took a deep breath, and continued, in a soft voice. "This was supposed to be simple. Felicity. In and out. You were supposed to take the job, I would have thrown it back in Oliver's face, gotten the information I needed…one day, in and out."

He saw she was listening now, so he kept going. "But then you said no, and that should have been the end of it. But I couldn't let it go…"

"Because of Oliver," she finished.

He shook his head. "Not because of Oliver. He was the reason I came," he confessed. "But…you…you're the reason I stayed."

"I'm sorry. I take bad guys out every night, and lying to you? Much harder." He was sincere. That much she knew. His eyes searched hers for any trace of sympathy. The longer their eyes locked, the more she felt her resolve fading.

"No more secrets. I'm an open book, here on out." He took a step towards her, reached out, and placed a hand on her cheek. Leaning his forehead against hers, he whispered, "Now can we move on the make-up part of this fight?"

"You're not as charming as you think you are," she mumbled, telling herself to pull away before it was too late.

"Yeah, I am," he said cockily.

He was smiling when his lips met hers.


	15. Chapter 15

Oliver.

He was her first thought when she woke up the next morning. Felicity glanced at Richard, still sleeping soundly beside her, and slowly rose from her bed. She closed her eyes and flashed back to that evening in Russia over a year ago: Oliver's expression when he opened the door and saw her, Isabel Rochev looking at her smugly as she strolled out of his room, his stumbling to explain himself, and her, standing there, numb with disappointment, finally turning around and walking away. It was too early to label what was going on between her and Richard, but sitting there, looking at his bare back, she couldn't help but feel she had betrayed Oliver.

Richard rolled over and blinked, breaking out into a wide smile when he saw her.

"Good morning," he mumbled.

"Good morning," she replied. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah…I was exhausted," he confessed. As the events of the previous night came into focus, a smile played on his lips. "I told you I had stamina."

A laugh escaped her lips without her consent. This was quickly unfolding into something very complicated; she had woken up and thought of Oliver, but now sitting next to Richard, she couldn't bring herself to move away from him. He lifted his arm, took a lock of her hair, and twirled it around his finger contentedly.

"Richard…" her voice trailed off, as she took a deep breath. Her tongue emerged and moistened her lips. "Oliver. Oliver is important to me."

Richard cringed, and extended his hand across his forehead, as though nursing a headache. "Oh God, déjà vu. Another 'It's not you, it's Oliver' talk.'"

She found herself laughing again, and without thinking, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "It's not like that. We're just friends."

"I just need to know that this…whatever this is…it's not going to be about Oliver."

"Felicity—" his tone both exasperated and amused. "If this was about Oliver, I wouldn't have been able to do what I did last night. I'm good. I'm not that good."

He pulled himself up into sitting position, letting his fingers pull her hair over her ear and dropping his hand by her face, caressing her cheek. "This is about you and me. Nobody else. Deal?"

She leaned in, her forehead gently pressing against his, and whispered: "Deal."

* * *

"You're looking like you're feeling better," Oliver greeted Felicity, stopping in front of her desk, his fingertips lying casually on the glass surface. There was a brightness in her eyes that wasn't there the day before. "More ice cream?"

Wincing in reply, Felicity stood to face him, tilting her head towards his office.

"Could I have a word?" Her voice was small and uncertain.

He shot her a quizzical look, the space between his eyebrows shrinking, but waved his hand towards his office and followed her in. "Everything okay?"

"Richard came by last night," she said, closing the door behind him.

No use beating around the bush. The sooner she got this out, the sooner she could deal with his reaction, or, more accurately, the yelling. Oliver was good at yelling. Contempt flashed across his face, and she felt her chest tighten in dread.

"Why didn't you call me? Or Dig?" It was supposed to be a question, but it came off more like a reprimand.

"Oliver…" she began. Her eyes fell to the ground, mostly because she couldn't bear to look at him.

Then it hit her, and she realized who she was talking to. She felt her nerves settle and her confidence return, and she found the strength in their history to meet his eyes again; she recognized, immediately, the animosity he wasn't even trying to hide. But this was Oliver: the same Oliver who promised she would never lose him; who had killed, more than once, to protect her; who shown her vulnerability when everyone else only got to see the different masks he wore throughout the day. Oliver, who may hate Richard Grayson, but who loved her. This would hurt him, but it wouldn't break them any more than his encounter with Isabel Rochev did. That, and at least Richard wasn't evil. Devilishly charming, absolutely, but not evil.

She tapped her fingers slowly on his desk and raised her eyebrows, biting her lower lip. "This is really awkward…"

Oliver leaned back into his desk, surprised that he needed his hands to steady himself, as he quickly figured out what she was failing miserably at telling him. He scoffed, but said nothing.

"It just happened," she offered up weakly, still tapping the glass on his desk. He threw a look down to her fingers, and she pulled her hand back immediately, noting his annoyance.

He told himself not to say anything; he couldn't trust himself at this moment, but once again, Oliver Queen found himself out of character and addressing her in a tone both sharp and cold. He felt inaccessible to her, and she hadn't felt that way since he left Starling City after Tommy's death, and that was due to the fact that he was actually, _physically_ inaccessible, being in another continent and all.

"Is it going to happen again?" He eyed her intently, lips pressed rigidly together in a straight line. He was struggling to exercise restraint; that much was clear to her.

"We haven't really had that conversation yet," she admitted. "And I should probably have it with him before I have it with you…no offense."

His cupped his hand over his mouth and looked away, urging himself to stop talking, knowing his temper was pushing its way to the surface. He tried not to think of Richard Grayson's hands on her, kissing her, undressing her…which, of course, meant that it was now_ all_ he could think of. And even though he knew he had no claim to her, no right to feel the way he did, he found that his hands were now balled into tight fists, nails digging into his palms.

It was Felicity who broke the silence.

"So…it took me about a week to, you know…not want to strangle you after Russia…" She took a few steps towards him and smiled, trying to coax one out of him. "What are we looking at here? About the same, give or take a few days?"

Oliver exhaled, and did the one thing that came naturally to him: he ignored her question and changed the subject.

"Where are we with Mark Desmond?"

"I hacked the hospital treating Celeste Barclay, put a trace on all the Barclay accounts. They won't try to go through Infinity…if any money transfers hands, it'll be through their personal accounts. Anything pops up, I'll let you know."

"Oliver?" Her fingers reached out and stopped when they reached his arm. "We good?"

He ticked the corners of his mouth upwards, ever so slightly, turning his lips inwards and biting down on them, and nodded tensely at her, still refusing to meet her eyes. "We're good."

Him and Richard Grayson, however, not so much.


	16. Chapter 16

Guys, do me a favor: don't think too much about the crime-fighting plot of the story...or try to find holes. There are holes. Trust me.

* * *

"I'm finding it really hard to concentrate with you breathing in my ear," she said, her fingers gliding nimbly over her keyboard.

"Didn't seem to bother you last night," Richard whispered, tilting his head closer to her ear, teasing her with his proximity.

Felicity smiled, but rolled her chair closer to her desk and away from him. "I have work to do, Richard," she scolded.

"How's it going?" Diggle walked in, jacket in hand. "It's hot out there."

"It's hot in here," Richard said, loud enough for only Felicity to hear.

She rolled her eyes, but ignored him, whipping her chair around and gesturing to Diggle. "Richard, this is John Diggle. Dig, Richard Grayson."

Richard extended his hand, and Diggle grabbed it in a firm handshake.

"It's good to meet the man behind the action movie," he said, eyes stuck on Felicity. "I'm a fan of your work."

She laughed, and Diggle threw her a questioning look. "I have to work on my ability to lie. I think it's lagging behind my ability to disarm bad guys." she said. "Oliver?"

"Meeting, 12th floor."

"Right. I had that on his calendar," she acknowledged, making a mental note that she needed more sleep.

"Any progress?" His eyes darted to her computer screen.

"Yes, actually," she broke out into a grin, excitement dancing in her eyes. "Celeste Barclay is being moved, to John Hopkins, under the supervision of a Dr. Vouri. I combed through cellphone records, emails, bank accounts, hospital records, trying to find a connection between Dr. Vouri and Desmond."

"And?"

"Nothing. Not so much as a text message exchanged."

"Felicity, you know what 'progress' means, right?"

She ignored him, her enthusiasm to communicate the results of the last few hours' work growing. "Then I remembered: Mark Desmond went to John Hopkins, so I went all the way back, and looked at his class list. That's the link! George Vouri and Mark Desmond went to Med School together. But it doesn't stop there." She pulled up another window, and looked up at Diggle, knowing he would be as stunned as she was to see the picture on the screen: three men, all in their twenties, arms draped over each other, under a headline:

**John Hopkins Students Receive Grant to Explore Development of Miracle Drug**

"Read the names underneath the picture," she instructed.

Diggle leaned in closer, his eyes going wide. "George Vouri, Mark Desmond, and Anthony Ivo."

* * *

"What is he doing here?" Oliver's eyes darted to Richard, as he marched up to Felicity's desk.

"Uh...it's my case," Richard pointed out, arms crossed. "I finish what I start, Oliver."

Oliver opened his mouth to retort, but Diggle jerked his head to Felicity's computer screen. "Oliver. We have more pressing matters."

He walked over behind Felicity, and turned his attention to whatever it was that clearly had Diggle on edge. His facial muscles tightened as he processed the article in front of him.

"They're playing with the Mirakiru," he said.

"Or a version of it," Diggle agreed.

"With a miracle?" Richard asked, his forehead crumpled as he tried to catch up with what was going on. He was suddenly grateful for all the languages Bruce insisted he learned.

"It's like a super steroid...that kills most people," Felicity explained simply. "We've kind of had a lot of experience with it."

Oliver ignored him, but addressed her. "Do we know where they are?"

"We might. The article says they worked on the drug here," she showed him a picture of a large building, located far into the outskirts of Starling City. "It's been abandoned since then. It's certainly isolated enough..."

"For human experiments." Oliver finished.

They were startled by the sound of Richard clapping his hands together. "Okay, fine, you don't even have to ask. I'll let you guys tag along," he said, grinning.

"Richard..." Felicity pressed her lips together, pouting, throwing him a worried look.

"You're not coming," Oliver announced.

"It's funny you think that's your choice," Richard countered, smirking.

A noise escaped Felicity's throat. It was meant as a chuckle, delivered solely to lighten the situation, but it sounded more like something was stuck in her throat. She smiled at Richard sweetly, but her fingers reached out and wrapped around Oliver's elbow.

"Teem meeting, be right back," she said, leading her boss away. Oliver reluctantly allowed her to steer him into his own office. She threw John a look to follow them, and let her eyes fall on the door, silently ordering him to close it. He understood immediately and obliged.

"Oliver, he was here first. Isn't there some sort of vigilante code...first come, first dibs on finishing the job?"

He glared at her, his eyes communicating his steadfast commitment to his earlier decision. "Dig and I can handle this. We don't need him."

His tone divulged that this was not open to discussion. He had made up his mind. Felicity glanced at Diggle, who was trying to read the situation before offering his opinion. This was par for the course for them: Oliver and Felicity, on opposite ends of the ring, sparring with raised voices and heightened emotions, while Diggle stood back and considered how to best mediate their fights.

"Oliver," she said, her tone firm and gentle, letting him know she wasn't backing down while also trying to soothe him into compromise."You're breaking into a facility that's, quite possibly, successfully turning sick patients into super humans. You don't think that maybe, just maybe, you could use an extra body."

"Felicity!" he snapped, his voice bouncing off the glass walls, amplifying the sound as efficiently as a microphone. "He. Is. Not. Coming." He stepped towards her, stopping when his face was only inches away from hers, daring her to challenge him. That was a mistake. Her eyes shifted to the side, anger spilling into them, and her lips tightened at his timbre. She was not one to back down from Oliver Queen, and anticipating the blow he knew she was about to deliver, John Diggle took a step back.

"So...let me get this straight: you let Roy in even though he was doped up on these super steroids, and the door is wide open for your girlfriend, but no invite for my boyfriend." Her emotions had taken over, and she had not stopped to consider what she had just called Richard Grayson.

On the outside, Oliver's face remained a portrait of apathy; the mask he wore for his public image, but shed in Felicity and Diggle's presence, had remained firmly in place. But on the inside, he was wrestling with a hotpot of emotions that could only be managed by pushing her words out of his mind. He couldn't afford to consider how he felt; couldn't entertain the feelings of bitterness, anger, self-pity, but most striking of all, regret. For all the things he never said, and all the things he never did, that inevitably led to this moment.

"And let me guess. We're not talking about this. You've already decided." Contempt dripped from her mouth. "Because at the end of the day, it's not our decision, it's yours. We're partners when it suits you and employees when it doesn't."

Almost instinctively, Oliver's eyes slammed shut at the impact of her words and the intensity of her anger. An apology was already forming on his tongue, but she wasn't interested in a response. Before he could say her name, she was halfway across the room, bridging the distance between him and the door in quick, graceful strides.

Diggle placed his hands in his pants pockets, and took a step forward, falling in line with Oliver.

"We could use the help," he offered, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Oliver shook his head slowly. "I don't trust him."

"No, Oliver. You don't like him. Not the same thing," Diggle pointed out, his voice filled with both truth and compassion.

Avoiding his eyes, Oliver shifted his feet and clenched his jaw.

"Look, I get it. There's bad blood there. But I can see it, man. However he feels about you, it's taking a back seat to how he feels about her."

He clasped a hand on Oliver's shoulder, urging his friend to look at him. And when he did, the two men exchanged a conversation that needed no words; John Diggle silently acknowledged what Oliver no longer had the strength to deny: he was in love with Felicity Smoak.


	17. Chapter 17

Hey everyone, thank you for the reviews. It means a lot, and it's been comforting to hear back from Olicity shippers who aren't revolting at the turn of the story or plotting to kill Richard in other fanfics :). I have gotten a lot of help in writing him (1booklover11 and hipkarma, I'm cyber-pointing at you).

I wrote in the description that there is no Sara/Roy/Laurel in this fic. I never bothered to think of how Sara and Oliver broke up, mostly because I'd much rather develop Oliver-Felicity and Felicity-Richard than spend time deconstructing Oliver-Sara (especially considering the absence of set-up on the show), so it's mentioned below that Sara is "gone," but I wanted to say that in this fic, she's not dead.

* * *

Richard Grayson was good at reading people. He had a running commentary going on in his head, constantly deconstructing and analyzing conversations and body language. He could read lips as effectively as a deaf person, a skill set that repeatedly proved valuable doing what he did.

He settled into Felicity's chair, leaning back so that it tilted slightly, offering him a clearer view of Oliver's office. He spent most of his nights working along, save the occasional mission that required him to coordinate with Bruce, and didn't have many opportunities to study group dynamics. This team was fascinating to him: Oliver Queen, who vacillated between acting like a hero and a petulant child; John Diggle, who epitomized sensibility, and provided both strength and stability; and Felicity, the brains and heart of their operation, and clearly, their moral compass.

It took an inordinate amount of restraint not to keep his eyes on their lips, knowing he could easily decipher what they were saying. He knew that was cheating; Felicity would tell him what she wanted him to know, and finding out any other way was a shortcut he wasn't going to take. He didn't want to cut corners when it came to her; he knew she was worth the baggage that clearly came with the relationship.

The scene unfolding before him was compelling, if only because of the contrast between the body language he had previously observed between Oliver and Felicity that morning in her apartment, and what he saw now. The warmth in their interaction was gone, replaced by hostility and coldness. It wasn't long before she turned towards the door and stomped out of the office. Richard leapt up, standing to meet her, registering Oliver's expression in the background. Loss was etched into his features, watching her walk away, and even though he clearly wanted to follow her, he didn't.

Felicity met Richard's eyes, her defiance unmistakable, as she walked briskly past him. Without considering the alternative, he found himself running after her.

"Felicity!" he reached out and seized her wrist. Richard's default setting was to exercise the maximum degree of physical strength, but he found control at the last second and spun her towards him gently. She responded to his touch, but refused to meet his eyes. Without words, he pulled her into his arms, his lips gently brushing the skin on her forehead.

Felicity closed her eyes, grateful for him, and sank deeper into his embrace.

* * *

_Follow her._

The words leapt into his head, but pride kept him rooted in the same spot even after he witnessed Richard run after her. Oliver returned to his desk and glanced up at the ceiling, one hand scrubbing his face.

He thought back to the day he met her: the way she had babbled and tapped a pen against her desk, her nervous energy triggering a smile that came from deep within him. Disarmingly charming, he was unprepared for the impact she would make in his life. They had spent so much time together over the last three years, their days merging with nights, usually fading into the early morning hours, that he never considered the day when he and Diggle wouldn't be the only men in her life. He flashed back to that afternoon in the cafe, and the way she looked at Richard. Since he was entertaining a moment of clarity, he allowed himself to recognize the look she had in her eyes: it was the look she had when she first met him, and the very opposite of what he saw when she snapped at him today.

Willing his legs to cooperate, he rose and noticed Diggle eyeing him from her desk. He walked out and leaned against the table.

"How bad is it?" he asked.

Diggle stretched his neck to one side. "Nothing an apology can't fix."

"I'm not good with apologies," Oliver winced, trying to loosen his tie, which now seemed ridiculously tight.

"In that case," Diggle said, eyebrows lifted up, lips forming a tight line. "It's really bad."

* * *

"This happen a lot?" Richard asked Felicity, as they strolled around the promenade on the bottom floor of Queen Consolidated.

"Only when he's being an ass," Felicity replied. "So, yeah, a lot."

She looked for thoughtful for a moment, and added, "Oliver's got serious control issues."

"Really? I didn't notice," Richard said, so dryly that she laughed.

"I know just how get your mind off this," he flirted, leaning in and kissing her, pressing his lips into hers with growing intensity, clearly eager for the act to go further. She wasn't used to public displays of affection, but she also couldn't bring herself to pull away from him. This was a recurring theme between her and Richard Grayson.

"Full disclosure, we could get arrested for public lewdness. You're probably thinking that's motivation enough for me to stop. You'd be wrong," he whispered, mischievousness wrapping each word.

She laughed again, her confrontation with Oliver quickly fading into memory as she allowed herself to be pulled back in for another kiss. The sound of Oliver clearing his throat separated them again.

"Can I have a moment?" His voice was softer this time, tentative and insecure.

"I'm going to...go pretend I have something better to do..." Richard stood up, and then turned back to Felicity and said under his breath, "Just to be clear, I have nothing better to do."

Oliver's eyes followed Richard as he headed in the opposite direction. Felicity crossed her arms.

"I'm still not convinced we need him," he said, sounding defeated. He reached into his pockets, noting how cold and clammy his hands were, but kept his eyes locked on her. "But I know we need you, Felicity."

There was an apology buried in his words that Felicity refused to acknowledge. Not this time. She was tired of reading between the lines. As it stood, there was already too much that remained unsaid between them.

"Look...I have issues with Richard Grayson..." his voice trailed off.

"You have issues, period," she shot back, acerbically. "After all this time, you still think it's all about you, Oliver. Your mission. Your call. Your secret. Like Digg and I don't have to make adjustments to our lives to do what we do. Like we haven't had to push people away and lie and do things that we aren't proud of."

He took a deep breath, pressing his lips together and nodding, gathering the nerve to tell her that she was right. He swallowed, twice, marveling at how dry his throat felt. She was really pissed this time, and it would take more to get her to move past this. Shifting his feet but not managing to feel more comfortable, he finally managed to push out the words that he knew she needed to hear.

"I'm sorry, Felicity," his tone penitential, the expression on his face pleading for absolution.

"So...last time I screwed up, it took...what...six or seven hours for you to not want to strangle me...what are we looking at here? About the same, give or take a few hours?" he said, smiling at her, hoping to get the same reaction out of her.

She didn't want to smile, but despite herself, a smile escaped nonetheless. He stared at her, reassured that although they had a long way to go, he was on the right track. His eyes darted back to Richard.

"You sure about him?" he asked.

"About Richard? No. He's cocky, and stubborn, and way too charming..." her voice trailed off as Oliver narrowed his eyes at her. "Oh, you meant for the mission?"

She let her head hang, her eyes on the floor for a second, before meeting his gaze again.

"I'm more sure about that than I am about...you know...the other thing," she admitted. "Oliver, he knows what he's doing. He's fast, and he's sure of himself—you said it yourself. I don't know what you and Dig will be walking into…but there's strength in numbers, and with Sara gone and Roy…"

"I know," he acknowledged. "We'll talk about it in the Foundry tonight."

She dipped her head in agreement. "I'll see you up there," she said.

"I'll be waiting."


	18. Chapter 18

"A club. It's genius. You are smarter than you look," Richard said, as he walked into the Foundry for the first time. "Although I don't know how you guys actually get work done…seeing as you've got unlimited access to booze less than 200 feet away."

Oliver threw him a look. Unfazed, Richard rubbed his hands together.

"Guess that would be an issue for just me, then," he commented, raising an eyebrow. "So, what's the plan?"

In the middle of the room, Felicity was already busy gathering intel. She was sitting at her desk, three monitors bright and animated in front of her—one with Mark Desmond's profile, another with the building's design blueprints, and the third with some information on the missing persons and medical reports. John was standing to her right, one hand clutching her chair's backrest, the other palm flat on her table. Richard came up to her left, and she smiled in greeting upon seeing him. It took everything in Oliver to hold his bitterness at bay; Richard was situated where he usually was when they planned a mission. Taking a deep breath, and making an extra effort at nonchalance, he made his way beside Diggle. His arms remained tense at his side, as he tried to focus on the task at hand.

"So I pulled up the building's blueprints, and it looks like there is a basement right here," Felicity points to a rectangle on her screen.

"The building used to be a lab," Diggle continued, crossing his arms. "So whatever they're doing, it must be happening here."

"Do we have a visual on the building?" Oliver asked.

"I pulled up some satellite images, and it's not going to be as simple as I thought," Felicity said, as blurs of colors appeared on her screen. "All the red patches are live bodies."

"It's lit up brighter than a Christmas tree..." Richard observed, a hint of amusement in his tone. He couldn't help but turn to Oliver with a smug grin on his face. "And you didn't think you'd need me," he leered.

Oliver made a conscious effort to ignore him, clenching his jaw shut as he talked himself out of responding, mostly for Felicity's sake. He turned his attention back to her and the monitors. "How many ways in?"

"Two, one here, and one here," Felicity replied, pointing.

"You and John can take the east entrance, I'll take the west," Richard announced.

Oliver nodded, trying to prioritize the mission instead of obsessing over the fact that someone else was running his team. But the plan was sound; Diggle was safer with him than with Richard, and that was a priority.

"This is going to be fun," Richard commented, no trace of fear in his voice.

"We need to talk about your definition of 'fun'" Felicity drawled, eyes wide and worried.

"Felicity," Richard said her name softly, meeting her eyes and flashing her a smile so genuine, Oliver had to look away. "I've been doing this a long time. This is how I party...and I happen to have brought the perfect outfit for tonight." Then, he turned and walked away, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

He emerged a few minutes later in a sleek black suit, made of triple-weave Kevlar-lined material, that emphasized his abs and biceps. Across his shoulders, extending to his hands, was a stylized blue "wing." He used spirit gum to attach his mask, and was holding two skinless rattan sticks.

"You really expect to conceal your identity with that?" Oliver sneered, gesturing quickly to the mask. He knew he was being petty, but Felicity had gone to prepare the radio transmitters they would be using for tonight.

"You do know you wear one too, right?"

"I have the hood."

"And _how_ many people know who _you_ are?"

Oliver opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when Felicity walked back into the room. It was probably for the best; he didn't have a superior comeback for that one. It was a running joke between Felicity and Diggle how many people knew who the Arrow was at this point.

"Impressive," Felicity said, as Oliver rolled his eyes in the background.

"I'm going to go see if Dig's ready," Oliver said, making his way to the door. He was now reconsidering his own suit, which suddenly seemed much less impressive. His next one would definitely highlight his assets, also known as his abs.

"If you like it, I'm willing to make a private appearance tonight," Richard hummed seductively, approaching her.

"I think I'd much rather see you in your cheerleading uniform," she quipped, smirking.

"He told you?" He scowled.

Felicity's lips turned upwards. She walked slowly past him, pausing as her shoulder grazed his. Turning her head sideways, one eyebrow raised, she said matter-of-factly, "Richard, Oliver and I don't keep secrets." Then, she let her fingers trace the blue detail on his suit before walking away, well aware that his eyes were still on her.


	19. Chapter 19

"How many?" Oliver asked, crouched down beside Diggle. The sod beneath them was damp, and Oliver found that his boots had created an imprint in the mud. He adjusted his feet to gain stability on the sloped surface, and pushed a branch out of the way to gain a better vantage point. The three men were standing on elevated terrain, the building's lights visible in the distance.

"It doesn't matter. I can take them," Richard said impatiently. "Let's go." He jerked his head towards the structure, batons under his arms, his eagerness growing by the second. He wanted to find Mark Desmond, the man who he now knew targeted him and Felicity two nights earlier. He also wasn't a big fan of overthinking strategy. Bruce had trained him well, and he had not yet encountered an adversary he couldn't beat. Tonight was not going to be the exception.

"There's four standing guard," Diggle replied, handing Oliver the night-vision binoculars. "Each side."

Oliver took it. He watched through the lens as armed men marched the perimeter.

"They're armed," he observed, contemplating how to best disarm them without killing.

"I can take them out, Oliver," Diggle assured him, eyes darting sideways to where his rifle lay. "Felicity, can you access their came-"

"Cameras, yes," she acknowledged. "I'm recording footage as we speak. I can run it on a loop when you guys are ready to make your move."

"You guys get down there, I'll cover you from here," Dig said, unfolding the rifle's bipod and resting it on the ground as he lowered himself down. He shouldered the gun, stretching his neck both sides, before looking into the scope. "When I say 'duck'..."

"Aim for their limbs," Oliver commanded with one slow nod, confident his partner understood. Richard was already on his way down when Oliver grabbed him.

"Non-lethal force," he instructed.

"Not my first rodeo," Richard snapped back, pulling his arm away.

"Felicity, we're going in," Oliver said, moving speedily behind Richard.

"They won't see you coming," she guaranteed. "Be careful."

Richard took out the smoker first. That was easy. Distracted by the cigarette in his mouth, he had allowed his gun to rest at his side, providing the perfect opportunity. He threw his batons up, watching with glee as the man's eyes tracked the weapons in mid-air, mouth hanging open in both shock and confusion. By the time he noticed the black suit moving swiftly towards him, it was too late, and his chest came into contact with Richard's boots. He fell to the ground with a loud thud, head hitting the concrete, losing consciousness just as Richard's sticks landed back in his hands.

He flung a baton towards his second attacker, successfully knocking his gun out of his hand, and then swung his leg in a circular motion, the top of his foot connecting with the man's head.

"Richard! Duck!" Dig's voice came through the transmitter. Lightning fast reflexes had him moving immediately, his body flat on the ground as he heard a bullet whiz by, followed by a scream of pain. His head whipped sharply towards the fallen assailant who had been hit in the leg. Instinctively, he was back on his feet, delivering a series of roundhouse kicks to his last remaining adversary, who stumbled back, but recovered quickly, and had both hands out in front of him ready to defend himself.

"Bored now," he jeered, throwing his remaining stick behind him, and deciding that he might as well get some sparring practice in. His first punch hit his attacker's jaw. He brought his hands to his face for protection, dodging hits easily. Then, deciding he might as well move on, he lifted his knee to his chest, shooting it backwards as he spun, hitting his attacker in the throat. Dusting his hands off dramatically, he looked at his fallen opponents and grinned, wishing Felicity had witnessed him doing _this_ instead of getting shot by a sedative dart.

"Richard's clear," he heard Dig say, and from the background noise, he knew he was putting the rifle away. "I'm coming to you, Oliver."

"Richard?" Felicity's voice came through, her tone worried. "Are you hurt?"

"Didn't even break into a sweat. I'm fine," he assured her, pulling open the large metal door and stepping into the building.

He walked briskly down the long, dark hallway, sticking close to the wall. It was colder inside than it was outside, a curious fact, but he didn't stop to consider why. A few feet ahead, he could see the wall, which meant he was going to have to make a choice: left or right.

"Felicity, which way?" he said, silently acknowledging the tracker they had insisted on putting in his boot was a good idea.

"Left," she replied immediately. "The lab should be coming up on your right."

"This is sexier than I thought it would be, your voice in my ear," his tone flirtatious.

"It's not a direct line, Richard," Oliver growled. "Dig and I can hear you."

"Geez. Relax. I'll make sure to give it back before I take her home tonight," he said in a low voice.

"Richard!" Felicity admonished, and the thought of her blushing made him smile.

"So they don't have to listen to us cuddle...but good to know you have something else in mind," he teased.

"Do you come with a disclaimer?" She sounded miffed, and the smart thing to do was shut up, but Richard couldn't help himself.

"Too hot to handle?" He suggested.

He stopped before a door with a glass window. "I think I'm here."

"What do you see?"

He glanced quickly into the room. On a hospital bed, hooked up to a monitor, lay Celeste Barclay. Beside her, syringe in hand, sat the man Richard had been restless to face all night: Mark Desmond.


	20. Chapter 20

"Cover him. I'll be fine," Oliver directed Diggle.

Diggle nodded stiffly. "I'll be right behind you."

He pulled his elbows in, winking and placing his open eye against the gun scope, not flinching when the cold metal rim met his skin. His finger wrapped firmly on the trigger, and he slid the gun lithely towards the west entrance of the building, tracking Richard who was moving at an impressive pace.

On the east side, Oliver was standing silently, doing a visual sweep of his surroundings as he considered the best way to advance. Confident that his suit provided the perfect camouflage, he snuck a quick glance at the guards' positions. Two men stood directly in front of him; another two were chatting amicably to his far left.

He lifted his arms, his bow coming up eye level, and smoothly released the string, sending an arrow directly into the shoulder of his first target. Before a scream of agony escaped into the air, Oliver was already on the move, stepping forward to improve his aim, his fingers moving deftly over his quiver as he picked up another arrow and sent it sailing into a leg. Second man down.

Whipping around, his attention was now focused on the two remaining men. Eyes tracking the metal of their guns, now drawn in front of them, he found his body moving before his mind could consider what to do next, and he was rolling on the ground and delivering sweeping kicks to the first attacker, sending him backwards, head bouncing on the concrete floor before losing consciousness. One more to go.

He jumped sideways to dodge a fist, and then his enemy was yelling, arm twisted behind him. Oliver released him for a moment, only to grip his shoulders and flip him through the air. One final blow, delivered with the edge of his bow, and he had successfully neutralized the four men.

"Richard's clear. I'm coming to you, Oliver," he heard Dig's voice come through. He scanned the area one more time, allowing a small smile to peek through when he caught sight of Diggle running towards him.

Gripping the handle of the large metal door, he swung it open, and the two men entered the building.

"It's colder in here," Digg remarked.

Voices were coming through the comm, and Oliver tried to block them out while considering his next move.

"Which way?"

"Left. The lab should be on your right."

"This is sexier than I thought it would be, your voice in my ear."

It suddenly became impossible to drown out Richard's flirting. Oliver stopped suddenly, rolling his eyes, and snarling in response. "It's not a direct line, Richard. Dig and I can hear you!" He reminded himself to exercise verbal restraint, and he turned back to look at Diggle, who had a curious look on his face.

There was nothing more annoying than hearing the amusement in Richard's response. "Geez. Relax. I'll make sure to give it back before I take her home tonight."

"Richard!" Oliver imagined Felicity's face, flushed, and knew she had a look of contempt on her face. At least _that _was comforting.

"So they don't have to listen to us cuddle...but good to know you have something else in mind."

Oliver exhaled noisily, his frustration threatening to erupt into rage. He _really_ hated Richard Grayson.

He felt Digg's hand on his shoulder, two fingers waving towards the left. Grateful for the distraction, he turned his attention in that direction. Richard announced that he had found both Celeste Barclay and Mark Desmond, and Oliver opened his mouth to respond, but before he could do so, they had rounded a corner and found themselves in front of a large window. Large glass vats, over twenty of them, were scattered around the room before them. Wires and monitors nearby, and lots of blinking lights, but what stood out most were the bodies inside, afloat in the translucent green liquid. Surveying the faces of the bodies, he knew who they were.

"Felicity. We found the missing patients," Oliver informed her.

"Are they alive?"

"We're going in to find out."

Oliver let Diggle walk in first, knowing his medical training was far more valuable in assessing the patients' condition. He watched his partner pick up a chart, scanning it quickly before turning back to him with a somber look on his face. A stiff shake of his head let Oliver know they were too late. There would be no one to rescue tonight, except maybe Celeste Barclay.

"Why keep them if they're gone?" Oliver wondered aloud.

"From the looks of these, they were trying to create antibodies to the serum."

"Antibodies?"

"Same science as vaccines. According to these notes, small doses of the serum were administered...they probably thought it would trigger the body to create antibodies. Once the patients' bodies started trying to fight back, Desmond must've tried to filter them out of their blood...tried to use the antibodies to create a cure." Dig explained. "I don't know why they're keeping the bodies here, but these people are long gone, Oliver."

"He never would have gotten FDA approval to test it on humans," Felicity reasoned, her voice coming in clear through the transmitter. "And he was running out of time. That must be why he started taking patients..."

"That stops now," Richard joined in, and Oliver noted the resolve in his tone. There was something else; he actually sounded compassionate, the ribbing tone from earlier vanished and was replaced with an earnestness he had not considered Richard capable of. He was still mulling over this when he heart the gunshot, and Diggle screaming in pain. Oliver spun around, bow raised and ready, unleashing another arrow that hit the gunman square in the wrist. He grabbed his partner and pulled him back behind a vat as more gunshots rang out.

Oliver's heart skipped a beat as he saw a group of armed men spilling into the room, blocking their only way out.

* * *

"Mark Desmond," Richard said, walking into the room, his hands help up. "I'm just here to talk."

"It's working. She's getting better," Mark Desmond said, a grin appearing on his face, making him seem far more menacing than he actually was. Richard knew this. Someone doesn't massacre dozens of sick people and smile like a savior without being seriously delusional.

"Why don't you let her go and you can tell me all about it," Richard spoke in a soft voice, approaching him slowly. If he had attacked, Mark Desmond would already be on the ground, but he had caught sight of the gun that was within the doctor's reach, and he wasn't going to risk Celeste Barclay's life. He already knew, listening to Diggle and Oliver, that she may be the only patient to make it out of there alive.

Mark Desmond flashed him another grin, this time more threatening, before grabbing the gun and firing. Richard reacted instinctively, diving to the ground behind an empty gurney.

"Okay," he yelled out. "Clearly you're upset."

"You can't stop me," Desmond roared.

"If I had a dollar for every villain who's ever said that..." he muttered under his breath. His chin stuck to the floor, he was tracking Desmond's feet shuffling towards him.

"Oliver! Digg!" He heard Felicity's panicked voice. "What is going on? Richard? What is going on? Will somebody please talk to me?"

"Digg's hit."

"It's just a graze, Oliver."

From his tone, Richard could already see him grimacing.

"Richard..." He heard Oliver say tentatively, his tone docile. "We're surrounded. There are at least 14 men here...and they're all armed."

"We can take them, Oliver."

"Keep pressure on that," his tone firm. "Richard."

And then he understood, despite the lack of words, exactly what Oliver Queen was asking.

"I'm on my way. Hang tight."

He threw his weight unto the gurney, sending it towards the wall, with Mark Desmond sandwiched in between. One swift whack and the gun was knocked out of his hand. Another strike and Mark Desmond was knocked out, slumped over the gurney, drops of blood from the gash on his head lightly splattered on the white bed sheet.

He had Felicity direct him where to go-left, right, right again-and in two minutes, he was staring down a corridor with six armed men who didn't see him coming. He positioned his arms across his center, keeping his elbows close his body. He took out the first two men in five seconds before the others noticed him. Sprinting to gather momentum, he propelled himself into the air in a single somersault, extending his legs as he landed, taking another two men down.

"Stay!" he heard Oliver's voice, and he knew he was talking to Digg.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the now familiar green hooded figure emerge from behind a large structure, rolling on the ground to dodge bullets, but recovering quickly and sending arrows flying into limbs. That was followed by some impressive hand-to-hand combat, and Richard smirked, turning his attention back to his fight. He utilized jump kicks to overcome another attacker, and then percussive hand strikes, delivered to pressure points on his enemies' bodies. His arms came out, blocking strikes, and delivering blows with agility and precision.

In a matter of minutes, both Oliver and Richard were the only men left standing.

"Where's Desmond?" Oliver asked.

"Taken cared of," Richard replied. "We should go."

"Felicity, call for back up," Oliver was panting, but he forced himself to slow his breath down to ease her concern.

"Working on it. Get out of there," she ordered.

"We're coming home."

* * *

Mark Desmond isn't gone, guys! He eventually becomes Blockbuster, Nightwing's archenemy, but that is to be explored in another story, another time. Thanks to 1booklover11 for helping me move this plot along!


	21. Chapter 21

Felicity swiveled in her chair, concern engraved in her face when she heard the door to the Foundry open.

She rose to meet them, approaching Diggle first. "You're bleeding. I'm going to get the first-aid kit." Then she was off, thinking of how strange it was that this was her new normal. She ushered Diggle to a nearby chair and proceeded to clean and bandage the gash on his arm.

With one hand, Oliver placed his bow on the table. The other was outstretched to Richard, who took it in a firm handshake.

"Thank you," he said, solemnly. They were out of earshot from Felicity and Diggle, which made the next part easier to get through. "And...I'm sorry I slept with Kate." It was an apology ten years in the making.

Richard shrugged, sinking into a nearby chair.

"Bygones," he replied, light but earnest. "I'm sorry I got you kicked out of Brown."

"Let's be honest. If it wasn't because of the casino, it would have been for showing up in class drunk." Oliver found himself smiling, surprised he was sincere.

"You showed up in class?" Richard narrowed his eyes at him.

"I can't remember...I was drunk _a lot," _Oliver chuckled, as he recalled an incident with a dare and a beer bong that ended with him getting his stomach pumped in the emergency room.

It was interesting, how naturally they were able to slip back into the rhythm of their friendship. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and Oliver was a different person back then. But here they were, and against all odds, history was repeating itself. Except this time, he actually loved the girl...and he wasn't going to get her. Karma is a bitch, he thought to himself.

"That I remember," Richard grinned back. "So...you told her about the cheerleading thing."

"Was that supposed to be a secret?" Oliver wrinkled his forehead, feigning innocence.

"Look at you two…in the same room together for more than 10 minutes and no one's throwing punches, literally or figuratively," Felicity said, walking up to them. She turned to Richard. "Ready to go?"

He reached over, automatically slipping his fingers into hers, an action so natural it wouldn't have been cause for anyone to look twice. Except Oliver.

"Absolutely," a wide smile appeared on his face, as he rose from the chair.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Oliver."

Her hand landed on his arm, and she did what she had done countless times before: running her fingers from his shoulder to his elbow in a gesture of spontaneous affection. She was oblivious to the pain it caused him now, to have her hands on him for seconds, and to know they would be on someone else for the rest of the night; that her touch, from here on out, would be a reminder of missed opportunities.

They had done this dance for so long-the shoulder clasps, the hand touches, the gazes that should have been awkward but never were-that he never realized how much he enjoyed the hidden potential between them. Until it was gone. She flashed him a smile, one that should have warmed him, and while he wanted to return it, he was acutely aware of the knot in his stomach as he watched her walk away, fingers still intertwined with Richard's.

"Best part of my job?" Diggle asked, appearing beside him.

"The opportunity to add to your scar collection," Oliver joked, a half-smile on his lips.

"I was going to say, 'free booze.'" His eyes met Oliver's, communicating depths of sympathy that he could not verbalize. "Grab a drink before heading out?"

He saw Richard sling his arm comfortably around Felicity's shoulder, and his chest tightened involuntarily when she leaned into him in response.

"Yeah," he said, nodding, eyes falling to the ground for a moment. Sneaking one more look at them, he added, "Maybe two."

* * *

It had been a long time since she felt this way about anyone—this heart pounding, weak-in-the-knees, butterflies-in-the-stomach sensation that was as foreign to her these days as the words "boring" and normal." If she was being honest with herself, the last person who made her feel this way waltzed into her office three years earlier and handed her a bullet-ridden laptop. But things were complicated with Oliver, and Richard was as refreshingly simple as masked vigilantes came.

He was standing before her, his back facing the private plane that was being prepped to bring him back to Gotham, looking at her with an expression that let her know this goodbye would be temporary. She took a step towards him, reaching out and grasping the lapels of his suit, her thumb running up and down the fabric.

"We should probably talk about the elephant in the room," she cooed, surprised at the affection her voice held.

"You mean you and Oliver?" Richard cringed at his own words.

She threw him a questioning look. Her fingers came into contact with the nape of his neck, and holding his gaze, she replied, "No…I meant the distance. Starling City? Gotham?" She looked at him expectantly, studying his reaction, smiling when relief washed over his face. He looked down at her, and then he was grinning.

"Felicity," he said, straightening his posture as his confidence returned. "We got kidnapped on our first date, survived our first fight, and successfully completed our first mission. I think we can handle a couple of miles between us."

"It's 782 miles. That's 780 more than a couple," she pointed out.

He nodded, looking sideways for a second before replying. He had come out to Starling for a variety of reasons, the least important of which was getting her to take the position, and now her answer was the only thing he really cared about. Even though he already knew what it was, he couldn't help but try again, just one more time. "Well, there's always that job waiting for you in Gotham," he said, his tone casual but his eyes pleading. She laughed, marveling at his resolve.

"There's an overqualified assistant…waiting for you here," she countered.

"Is she as hot as you?"

A quiet laugh escaped her lips, but she tried to fake annoyance. "Can't you be serious for just two minutes?" Then she saw the change in his eyes, as his fingers reached out to cradle her face. He leaned in, letting his forehead rest on hers, thumbs gently stroking her jawline, making sure she understood every word that came next.

"Felicity," he said, firmly. "I can be serious for a _lot_ longer than that."

She was smiling when his lips met hers.

* * *

**Story has moved. It's called Save Me a Dance. I can't post a link, but just look it up under my stories if you are interested in reading more. I moved it because the theme is different, and because 20+ chapters is difficult to navigate through. :) Thanks again for reading!**


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